Diana of the Island
by ElouiseBates
Summary: The trials and triumphs of Di Blythe as she runs her Orphan Home in Toronto.
1. Chapter 1

**Anne Shirley (1866) m. Gilbert Blythe (1864) – 1891**

Joyce Blythe (1892)

James (Jem) Matthew Blythe (1893)

Walter Cuthbert Blythe (1894-1916)

Anne (Nan) _Leslie_ Blythe (1896)

Diana (Di) _Gail_ Blythe (1896)

Shirley _John_ Blythe (1898)

Bertha Marilla (Rilla) Blythe (1899)

**John Knox Meredith m. Cecilia (d. 1902) m. Rosemary West – 1906**

Gerald (Jerry) _Knox_ Meredith (1894)

Faith _Cecilia_ Meredith (1895)

Una _Grace_ Meredith (1896)

Thomas Carlyle (Carl) Meredith (1897)

Bruce _West_ Meredith (1907)

**Owen Ford m. Leslie West Moore (1862) – 1894**

Kenneth _West_ Ford

Persis _Rose_ Ford

**Jem Blythe m. Faith Meredith – 1921**

Cecilia (Lily) Joyce Blythe (1923)

Walter (Walt) James Blythe (1924)

**Rilla Blythe m. Kenneth Ford – 1922**

Gilbert (Gil) Owen Ford (1923)

**Jerry Meredith m. Nan Blythe – 1922**

Blythe Gerald Meredith (1923)

John (Johnny) Knox Meredith (1925)

**Shirley Blythe m. Cecily Irving (1905-1925) – 1923**

Joshua Matthew (Matt) Blythe (1925)

Joanna Margaret (Meggie) Blythe (1925)

**Mary Vance m. Miller Douglas – 1919**

Elliot Miller John Kitchener Douglas (1920)

Vance Lloyd George Douglas (1922)

Una Cornelia Mary Douglas (1924)

* * *

Names in italics are invented middle names given to already established characters.  



	2. Chapter 2

Diana Gail Blythe—"Di" to family and friends, "Miss Blythe" to most of the Home's sponsers, "Mother Di" to the twenty-odd orphans under her care—checked a relieved sigh as Reverend Johnson wound his sermon down. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate church, it was just that it was rather difficult to keep all the children quiet during the service, and this new minister _did _preach _quite_ lengthy messages.

As the congregation bowed their heads to pray, Di surreptitiously checked down the row to make sure the children were behaving. The little ones were mostly asleep, with their heads in Tricia's lap. Some of the older ones were looking fussy, but Peter and Katia were quelling any signs of restlessness.

As soon as the benediction was pronounced, they were up and gone, running outside with the other children of the congregation to play in the warm June air.

"Remember what day it is!" Di called as she picked up Mirielle, the youngest baby in the orphan home.

Tricia smiled brilliantly at her. "Don't worry, I'll make sure they don't murder each other or anyone else."

Taking little Polly by the hand, she skipped out the door. Di smiled. She really didn't know how she had functioned before Tricia started working with her.

Her mind at ease about the children, she was able to greet the many church members swirling around in the stately old stone building. Shaking hands with several of the Home's wealthy patrons, she finally worked her way out of her pew and greeted her sister and brother-in-law, Rilla and Kenneth Ford, and their son Gilbert Owen, age two.

Rilla hugged Di tightly, despite her growing stomach. "Are you coming to dinner this afternoon?"

"Why?" Di asked wryly. "Have you another eligible bachelor for me to meet?" Her grey-green eyes met Ken's dark ones and they laughed to each other. Rilla was notorious for trying to match her twenty-nine year old sister to someone—anyone.

"No," Rilla answered in all seriousness. "But Mother Leslie and Father Owen are home from France, along with Persis, and I know they want to see you."

Di grinned. She hadn't seen Ken's family in over a year and missed them dreadfully. "As it happens, Tricia doesn't have to go to Dr. Woods' home today, so I am available."

"Wonderful! We'll see you around two, then."

Di kissed her sister and nephew and made her way outside, where she rounded up her children and they made their way back to the Home.

* * *

It had been two years since Di had left the States to take over the faltering Orphan Home in Toronto, and in that time she had completely turned it around, thanks in part to one of her mother's former protégées. Jen Stedman _nee_ Pringle had only been too happy to help her beloved Miss Shirley's daughter in this endeavor. She had convinced her husband to support the Home, and bullied, cajoled, and otherwise persuaded many of their wealthy friends do the same. Thanks to their support, the Shirley-Stedman Home was thriving.

Di wouldn't admit it, but even all the money in Toronto wouldn't have been enough to make a success had it not been for her untiring work and determined spirit.

In looks, Di may have looked like a younger version of her mother, Anne Shirley Blythe, but in personality, she was far more like her father, Gilbert. She had his same stubborn will, his insistence on always doing what was right, whether it was easy or comfortable or not, and his determination and self-sacrificial spirit. These traits, combined with her sparkling personality and winning smile, opened far more doors than all of Mrs. Stedman's bullying.

Di was innovative and flexible when it came to running the Home, but the children all knew she was in charge. She loved every one of them dearly. Though Rilla and Di's twin Nan bitterly lamented their sister's single status—as did old Susan, the beloved handmaiden to the Hough of Blythe—Di herself was quite content. As she looked ahead at the long line of children walking back to the Home, she couldn't think of one thing she would change, especially now that Tricia was working with her.

Patricia Woods had introduced herself to Di six months ago after church one Sunday. She was an orphan herself, living with her uncle, Dr. Richard Woods--who also happened to be a patron of the Home. Tricia, as she preferred to be called, wanted to help in some way. Di had made some suggestions--coming in one afternoon a month to work with the children, donating old clothes, something simple--but Tricia wanted to do something more. She finally convinced Di to let her move in as a full-time helper for a trial period of one month.

The month came and went without either of them noticing. In fact, after one week, Di couldn't believe there had ever been a time when Tricia was _not_ there. Dr. Woods hadn't been overwhelmingly pleased with his niece's decision, but he had enough expereince with her stubborn will--so similar to Di's--that he knew better than to argue. The only stipulation he made was that Tricia come home every other Sunday for a meal and that she let them know if she needed anything. Tricia agreed happily, and the two women, though eleven years apart, worked together perfectly.

* * *

Chaos greeted Di as soon as she walked through the door of Rilla and Ken's home on Forest Hill that afternoon. Ken and Uncle Owen were debating quite loudly over world politics, Rilla was in the kitchen supervising the cook, Aunt Leslie was cooing over little Gilbert, who was delighting in her attention, and Persis—well, Persis swooped down on Di as soon as the latter entered. 

"Thank goodness you're here, darling! If I am forced to admire little Gil's 'darling itty toes' and 'cunning wittle dimples' one more time, I shall scream! Mother just wants me to get the urge to have children myself so that I'll get married and relieve her mind."

Di broke into laughter. Golden, stunning, impetuous Persis was a friend of her childhood. She had many fond memories of trips to the old "House of Dreams" to play with Persis and Ken. In those days, Nan and Persis had been better friends, while Ken and Di were cohorts in mischief, but as they got older they all grew closer. Di thought Persis the loveliest creature she had ever seen, while on her part, Persis admired Di's slim figure and ruddy curls wholeheartedly.

"Is it working?" Di asked impishly, hanging up her cloche in the hallway.

Persis winked. "I already am longing for children—but I don't want the bother of a husband!"

Aunt Leslie reluctantly left Gil long enough to come give Di a hug and kiss. Still beautiful, despite there being more grey in the coil of hair than gold, and despite the wrinkles that the War had brought, she reflected that Persis and Di could have been her and Anne, so many years ago.

"How was Paris, Auntie?" Di asked.

Leslie frowned. "Dreadful. As soon as Owen had gathered enough materiel for his book, we cut the trip short and came right home."

"What is wrong with it?" Di remembered all her romantic dreams from childhood of wanting to travel the world with Walter—she turned her thoughts away from that painful memory and focused on the answer to her question.

Persis answered instead of Leslie. "It is so depressing, Di. Everyone is so desperate to prove they're alive that they are forgetting the reasons to live. Everything is focused on now, today, getting what pleasure you can out of anything without thinking about consequences. It's disgusting. Oh, I suppose it's the same everywhere, but somehow it seems more—obvious—in Paris." She ended with a rueful sigh. "Traveling was more fun before the War."

Such sentiment might have sounded odd coming from Persis, who was the very image of a flapper, with her golden hair cut in the daring "shingle bob" and waved softly back from her face, emphasizing her fine neck and jawline and highlighting her brilliant blue eyes and full red mouth. Her very outfit proclaimed her a modern 'twenties woman, from the filmy green scarf encircling her neck, to the deep green dress that swooped in the front and dipped in the back and rose alarmingly near the knee at the asymmetrical hemline, to the heavy jade earrings dangling from her dainty lobes.

Her appearance notwithstanding, Di knew that Persis was a true Canadian at heart. More than that, she, like Faith Meredith, had been a V.A.D. in the War, and had seen horrors there most people couldn't imagine. There was far more to Persis Ford than the delicate china-doll appearance on the outside.

"So," she continued. "We're back in Toronto for a while, and I have to find something profitable to do with my time, or Mother and Rilla will be sure to hook me up with some old, ugly, rich Torontonian."

Di grinned mischievously. "Better you than me."

Persis stuck her tongue out at her. "Any suggestions of work for me to do in the city?"

"Persis Ford, shopgirl?" Di said doubtfully. The idea was rather absurd. Persis no more belonged behind the counter in a fashionable shop than a bird of paradise did in a pet emporium.

Persis herself acknowledged the incongruity of the idea with a giggle. "Maybe not quite that, but something. Do you need any help around the Home?"

Di laughed. "Well, our latest housemaid did just leave us, due to certain 'mishaps' that occurred—some of our children are quite mischievous—but I don't see you doing drudgery work, either."

"Ah well," Persis shrugged it off. "Enough about me. Tell me all about what's been going on in the Blythe family in the past year."

"How much time do you have?" Di began dryly. "Let's see. Mother and Dad are doing quite well. Jem and Faith and their two—Lily and Walt—are living at Ingleside with them, and Jem is a full partner with Dad now. Folks around the Glen trust him _almost_ as much as Dad. Jerry's political career is 'rising meteorically' in the words of Nan, and their child count is now up to two and one on the way. Nan hopes this one will be a girl. She loves Blythe and Johnny, but she longs for a pretty little girl to dress up and fuss over."

"That doesn't surprise me," Persis interjected.

"Shirley"—Di's voice caught in her throat. It was only two months since Shirley's personal tragedy, and it was still painful for all who loved him.

"I heard something about that," Persis said gently. "I think Aunt Anne wrote about it to Mother. His wife died?"

Di blinked away the tears that were stinging her eyes. "Yes," she replied huskily. "But he's doing as well as can be expected under the circumstances. He's moved back to Avonlea—bought Green Gables from Uncle Davy and Aunt Millie when they moved out west—and he and the twins are slowly healing."

"Twins?" Persis said in surprise. "I hadn't heard about that!"

Di smiled proudly. She loved all her nieces and nephews, but Shirley's children were especially dear, just as Shirley himself was. "Joshua Matthew and Joanna Margaret. So far they are still Joshua and Joanna, but Shirley called me the other day and said they are starting to look more like Matty and Meggie. We'll see what happens."

"And how is Diana?"

"Diana is doing well," Di laughed. "She loves her work and her children and wouldn't trade it for anything. The only thing she really misses is a chance to get down to P.E.I. for visits."

"That must be hard," Persis agreed.

"I haven't seen Mother and Dad since I came here," Di sighed. "I feel terrible—but I can't just leave the Home. they've been promising to visit us here, but so far it hasn't worked out."

"They'll come eventually," Persis comforted. "In the meantime, I'm here, and you're here, and here comes Rilla to tell us dinner is ready, so let us put away vile care, my friend, and pretend we're children once more!"

Laughing at her theatrical tones, the two friends went in to the dining room arm in arm. Looking around the table at the people she loved, Di's heart swelled with thankfulness. What, she reflected, could possibly be better than this?


	3. Chapter 3

A few days later the Home received an unexpected visitor while the children were playing in the small back yard and Di was working on the ever-present paperwork in her office. Tricia popped her head in the door, her hazel eyes wide.

"_Someone_ wants to see you," she hissed.

Di stifled a laugh at the younger girl's dramatic tones. "Is it the Prime Minister?"

Tricia managed a wan smile. Clearly, Di did not understand. "No—but she looks like a _film star_. Are you up to seeing her? Do you want a moment to change?" looking at Di's neat cotton house dress with trepidation.

"Send her in now," Di said, guessing who it was. Sure enough, Persis breezed into the office moments later.

"Good morning, dearest," she dimpled. "Am I interrupting important business?"

"Just mind-numbing paperwork," pushing it away. "What brings you here this morning? Just a visit?"

"Not exactly." Persis hesitated and bit her lip. "That cute little girl who let me in—is she the new housemaid?"

"No," Di answered, wondering where on earth that question had come from. "She's my assistant; we still haven't found a housemaid."

"Really?"

"Yes. Persis, _what_ is this about?"

Persis let her breath out in one rush. "Would you hire me?"

Di stared at her blankly. "As a housemaid?"

"Yes."

Di began to laugh, then checked herself at the sight of the other's flushed cheeks and earnest eyes. "You're serious?"

Persis smiled half shamefacedly. "Very."

"Why?" was all she could ask. Persis the glamorous, the 'lily of the field,' the favored daughter of the House of Ford, wanting to work as a maid? Picking up after children, taking out the trash, sweeping the halls, doing all the chores? It simply didn't make sense.

Persis twisted her rings around on her slim white fingers. "I just—well, like I told you last Sunday, I need a job. I need to _do_ something—something useful with my life. After seeing all the people our age just—_wasting_ their lives—I don't want to do that. I want to use my life for others, to do good, to—leave behind a meaningful legacy."

"And so you want to be a maidservant?" Di asked, bemused.

Persis laughed. "It does sound foolish when you put it that way. I could start as a photographer for Ken's paper, or as Dad's secretary, or really, pick any thrilling or exciting career. But I don't want thrills—and I love kiddies, you know I always have—and I want to feel like _I've_ accomplished something for myself, on my own merits, not based on my family or my looks. Here, even though you are my friend, I know you wouldn't hire me unless you really thought I could do the job—you're _so_ honest, darling—and I'd be starting at the bottom and achieving something on my own. Does _any_ of this make sense?"

Di remembered some years ago, pouring her heart out to Shirley about her need to do something worthwhile with her life—her way of "keeping faith"—a journey that had eventually led her here. She smiled slowly. "Can you start tomorrow?"

Persis sprang up, her blue eyes glowing. "Do you mean it?"

"I certainly do."

"Oh thank you, Di, thank you! I promise, I'll be the best housemaid, maidservant, parlormaid, whatever you want to call it, you ever had!"

"That won't take much effort," Di said dryly, thinking of the past succession of domestic help they'd had.

Persis kept on going as though she hadn't heard. "And I don't want you to treat me any differently than you would anyone else, just because I'm your friends."

"Don't worry, I'll stand over you and crack the whip all day long," Di replied, her eyes twinkling.

Persis finally stood still. She laughed. "I know I'm going overboard just a bit, but I'm so excited! When I was wandering around Paris, seeing all the waste of life going on around me, I just—I _knew_ I needed to do something differently. I've always been a bit of a butterfly, you know, but it's time to settle down and work." She paused for breath. "Do you have any instructions for me? If not, I must run home and tell Mother."

"What will Aunt Leslie think"? Di asked, experiencing a momentary qualm at the thought of displeasing that stately woman.

Persis smirked—there was no other word for it. "She'll just think it another on of my mad-cap schemes. She's likely to feel sorrier for you than for me."

"She might not after your first day. No, no special instructions, just come tomorrow morning prepared for _anything_."

"I will. And Di—thank you."

After Persis had danced out, Di sat bemused, wondering what on earth she had done. "Can Persis even _clean_?" she murmured to herself.

She shook her curls with a determined air. However it all worked out, one thing was certain: it was going to be interesting.

"I just hope she has appropriate clothing," she said suddenly.

* * *

The sun was barely peeping over the tops of Toronto's stately brick and stone buildings when Persis rapped smartly on the Home's back door the next morning—dressed, Di saw with relief as she let her in, in a simply black skirt and grey blouse, with her golden fleece peeping out brightly from underneath a kerchief. Di couldn't help but marvel at how even in such humble clothing Persis radiated beauty and life. Cleaning dusty halls seemed utterly inappropriate for such a woman. Still, this was what she wanted, so Di immediately set her to work.

The children—and Tricia—had been informed that Mother Di had hired a new maidservant, and the little Welsh boy Bran and the French twins Paulette and Pierre—five and six respectively—had been up all night planning the tricks and pranks they could pull on her.

These three small bundles of mischief caused Di more problems than all the rest of the orphans put together. Never a day went by that they didn't send her to the mirror checking for grey hairs. They had successfully chased away five of the Home's seven maids, gotten lost in the city innumerable times, put white pebbles in the sugar bowl when the Home's sponsors came for the monthly tea, made frightful masks and frightened Tricia nearly into hysterics the first night she was there, and on and on.

Paulette was the first one up that morning. She crept out of her bedroom, still in her nightgown, her bare feet making no noise on the wooden floor, her triangular little face alight with mischief as she thought of all the ways she could frighten this new maid.

Persis, who had the hearing of a cat—even down to its slightly pointed ears—heard a slight noise behind her as she cheerfully dusted the woodwork, and turned in time to see the little girl slowly retreating. The dismay on her face at being spotted slowly changed to awe as she looked up at Persis.

"Are you—an angel?" she whispered.

Persis grinned, two dimples appearing in her round cheeks. "I'm afraid not. My name is Persis. What's yours?"

"Paulette," was the hushed reply. Her bright blue eyes suddenly flickered downward in chagrin.

Persis followed her gaze and saw a dead snake cleverly coiled on the floorboards before her. Her dimples deepened; Di had warned her about this sort of thing. Thankfully, the War had given Persis nerves of steel—and she had never, at any time in her life, been accused of being a coward. She immediately assumed an expression of deep interest.

"Ooh…how fascinating. Is this yours?" Before the astonished child could respond, she went on. "How nice of you to show it to me—and you even set it up so that I could see what it looked like alive! Do tell me all about it."

"I—I don't know," Paulette stammered in confusion.

Persis glanced around the hall; none of the other children were up yet, and Di and Tricia were nowhere to be seen. She abandoned her dust cloth and squatted down right next to the little girl. "Well, I took a few science courses in college. Let's look at this and see what we can learn about it."

A smile began to blossom on Paulette's face. "All right."

When Bran and Pierre slipped out of their room a little while later, they found Paulette comfortably established in the housemaid's lap as they both intently examined the snake. The boys stopped in confusion, but before they could say anything, Paulette looked up and saw them.

"Come see!" she exclaimed. "Miss Persis has been teaching me all about snakes! It's _fas'nating_."

As they scrambled over beside her, the dead spiders and bugs in their pockets utterly forgotten, Tricia unobtrusively glided out of the shadowy alcove behind them she'd been standing in the entire time and moved silently toward the stairs. Di would happy to know that Miss Ford seemed to be working out even better than they'd hoped.

* * *

By the end of the week, Persis had charmed nearly all the children. To be sure, Olivia steadfastly refused to like her—but then, that girl wouldn't let herself care for anybody. She had been raised by her grandmother, a hard, bitter old woman; after her death Olivia was passed from relative to relative on her father's side, none of whom wanted her, and finally landed in the Shirley-Stedman Home an unloved and deeply hurt child, refusing to believe that anyone would ever want her.

But the rest of the children were enormously fond of "Miss Persis," and Paulette and Pierre in particular adored her. Di couldn't help but laugh at the sight of the two of them trailing after her, watching with fascinated eyes as she performed her daily duties.

"How are you holding up?" she asked her friend that Saturday evening.

Persis looked exhausted, but her eyes were radiant. "I've never worked so hard in my life—and I've never been so satisfied. Di dearest, I understand now who you do this. It's exhausting and frustrating and saddening—but knowing you're making a difference in the lives of these children just makes it all worthwhile."

Di nodded. "The hardest thing is not being able to help all of them. Everything we do here is just a tiny drop in the ocean of need."

"It must be discouraging," the other woman agreed sympathetically. "But you are accomplishing _something_. Look at Paulette and Pierre and all the other street children you have. Just think where they would be if not for you! And Katia—sent away from her family in Russia during the Bolshevik Revolution and ending up here, all alone…where would she have gone? Or Peter and Polly—coming her to live with their aunt after their parents died in that train wreck in London, only to find that she had died as well—what would they have done? Or…"

Di held up a hand, laughing as she did so. "Enough! You've made your point."

Persis smiled smugly. "Good."

"So what do Uncle Owen and Aunt Leslie think of this now they know it's more than just a whim?" Di asked, reverting to the original subject.

"Astonishingly enough, they're delighted. They can see I'm finally doing something I love, instead of something that merely amuses and distracts me. Rilla and Nan, on the other hand, are in despair that now _both_ you and I will end up old maids."

And the two laughed heartlessly at the consternation they were causing between their sisters and friends.


	4. Chapter 4

Sunday morning, Di and Tricia lined the children up in front of them before leaving for church. This was extremely necessary, for nearly every week _someone_ was mussed or filthy.

This week, for a change, everyone was neat and tidy—and smiling, though Bran was scowling at the short trousers suit he was forced to wear once a week. Di smiled with pride at the sight of all of them. They were all dear, but some were particularly close to her heart.

There, at the head of the line, was Peter Campion, tall for his eight years, golden-haired and formal, tightly holding his little sister Polly's hand. Peter and Polly had just come to the Home from England in the last six months. Their parents had been killed in a train accident in London; the children had no other family in England, but it was discovered there was an aunt living in Toronto. Accordingly, to her the children were sent, only to discover upon arrival that she, too, had died. Di had taken them in, promising Peter she would never separate them.

That promise had been harder to keep than she'd imagined. There were many families who would have been more than happy to adopt little Polly. With her deep gold-flecked green eyes and auburn hair—truly auburn, the shade Di and her mother had always longed for—framing her heart-shaped face, the two-year-old was already a beauty, with a sweet and gentle spirit to match. But there were few who were willing to take her stiff, silent older brother as well.

Peter was absolutely an English boy. He was quiet and reserved, very rarely showing any emotions. While Di admired his self-control, it did not endear him to many prospective parents.

True to her word, however, Di had refused everyone who wished to adopt Polly without Peter, and the two were never far apart. Peter was also a great help with the children, keeping order and calm even among the unruliest (such as Bran and the twins).

Then there was Katia—her full name was Ekaterina, but that was only used in _very_ formal settings. Her family had been among Russia's aristocrats, and when revolution broke out in that country, they sent their baby daughter away for her own safety. Her nurse, supposedly a trustworthy family servant, stole the money and abandoned the child as soon as she reached Canada, and the Home ended up with another stray. Katia was also lovely in a very Slavic style—even at ten, her dark eyes and hair and high, broad cheekbones and full mouth were wreaking havoc among the hearts of all the boys at school. She was a gentle soul, but deeply troubled by the events that had torn apart her home and family.

Frederick Mercer was the other English boy at the Home. He was seven, small for his age, and not very strong. Nobody was quite sure what his background was or how even he had come to the Home—he had been there since the end of the War, and records of that time were sketchy. Freddy bore himself well, and never quite lost hope that someday his family would find him. He and Peter were close friends.

Nine-year old Olivia broke Di's heart every time she looked at the child's hard, bitter face. _No_ child should ever have to believe she was unwanted. Di vowed that, no matter what else happened, by the time Olivia left the Home she would know that one person, at least, _did_ care about her.

Elisabetta and Francesco were second-generation Canadians. Their father had been killed fighting for the Allies during the War, and their mother died shortly after. The rest of the family was still in Italy, so the ten and eight year olds, respectively, were left bereft.

Then, of course, there were Paulette and Pierre, two palpitating bundles of energy, and Bran.

Bran (pronounced Br-ah-n, with a long "a") Lewis had been left as a baby on the doorstep of the Home one night, tucked in a woven basket, wrapped in a coarse woolen blanket, with a note pinned under his chin, stating:

_His name is Bran Lewis. He is Welsh. Please take good care of him._

There was nothing more. When Di told her family about this after she first came to the Home, Nan was thrilled, thinking it sounded like something out of one of her favorite romance dime novels. Mother, however, merely said in a sad voice that she knew many such stories from her time in orphan asylums, and none of them were romantic.

Despite his mysterious past, Bran was as happy and carefree as any parent-less child had a right to be. He was small, even for his five years, with a mobile, monkey-ish face, dark brown hair and eyes, and a surprisingly sweet smile. No matter how many times he caused her to want to tear out her hair, Di couldn't help but love him dearly. It wasn't fair to many of the better-behaved children, who rarely, if ever, needed a scolding, but Di's little Welsh boy held an especially dear place in her heart.

None of the prospective parents were ever willing to adopt him after one visit, and if the truth were told, Di didn't mind. She couldn't imagine life around the Home without her Bran.

* * *

Tricia came back from her bi-weekly Sunday dinner late that night, glowing with excitement.

"Di," she hissed, tapping on Di's bedroom door. "Are you asleep?"

As it happened, Di had been on the verge of drifting off to the Land of Nod, but she forced herself to sit up at Tricia's important tones and wipe the sleep from her eyes.

"Of course not," she said, sitting up and turning on a light. "Come in."

The younger girl slipped in, her modish pale blue dress and heels contrasting sharply with Di's yellow flowered cotton pajamas. "I'm sorry to disturb you so late at night, but I have the most wonderful news! My cousin Alan, Alan King—have I told you about him?"

Di frowned with concentration. "Is he the son of your favorite aunt?"

"Yes, Aunt Becca. She and Uncle Richard were my dad's only siblings. Alan is nineteen—only a year older than I—and he's getting married this fall!"

"How exciting!" Di said, getting into the spirit of things. While not interested in marriage herself, she did enjoy hearing about other people's matches. She knew that Alan and Tricia were very close. "Do you know the girl he's marrying?"

Tricia stripped off her heels and curled up like a cat at the foot of Di's bed. "I haven't met her, but Alan says her name is Anna Petrova, and she's from _Russia_. But oh, Di, I haven't told you the best part yet! Alan wants me to be a bridesmaid, and the wedding is going to be held on Prince Edward Island!"

"Truly?"

"Alan's father's family has a homestead down in Carlisle—do you know where that is, dearest?"

Di thought for a moment. She'd never visited Carlisle, but she had heard of the little community, tucked away in one of the Island's corners. "It's supposed to be a beautiful spot. Wait—did you say Alan's last name is _King_?"

"Yes—have you heard of him?"

Di laughed. "Not of him, but nearly everyone on the Island knows of the King family. Why, they're practically royalty!" laughing a little at the pun every Islander knew by heart. "In fact, there's a former King married to the minister in Avonlea—Rev. Craig. I wonder if she's related to your Alan?"

"Probably," Tricia acknowledged. "Alan's family is enormous. His dad—my Uncle Bev—has innumerable cousins. Oh Di, I can't believe I'm finally going to see the Island at last! I've heard you speak of it so often, and I've always dreamed of visiting, but never did I imagine that I'd actually get to see it. Will it really be as beautiful as you've told me?"

"More," Di said firmly. A pang of homesickness tore at her heart. She _missed_ the Island—yes, enormously! Tricia would get to see an Island autumn; the trees would all have put on their most glorious show of the year, the apples would be heavy on their boughs, the harvest would be just finishing, the squirrels and birds would be preparing for winter, the very air would smell like woodsmoke and the wind would carry a hint of winter—Di swallowed around the sudden lump in her throat. She'd forgotten how much she truly loved her home.

Tricia chattered on, oblivious to Di's sudden attack. "One of Alan's aunts is going to be there too. Sara Giraud _nee_ Stanley!"

_That_ news was enough to snap Di out of her sudden melancholy. "Your cousin is related to one of the most famous actresses ever to come from Canada? The Sara Stanley who has performed before kings and queens in Europe? The Sara Stanley who married a French aristocrat?"

Tricia smiled smugly. "That Sara Stanley. And I'll get to meet her! Oh Di, I'm so afraid I won't know what to say. I'll just be a stupid little girl in front of her, I know I will."

"Nonsense, dear," Di reassured her. "I'm sure she's charming, and you'll make a fine impression."

The two stayed up late into the night, Di relating story after story of her childhood in Glen St Mary, and Tricia listening with eager ears, dreaming about her own trip to that magical place.

* * *

Even after Tricia left, Di lay awake for a long while. Telling stories of her youth had brought back memories she had long tried to suppress—memories of her darling brother, her especial chum, the confidante of her childhood and beloved friend of girlhood. Walter Cuthbert Blythe.

Nobody in the family spoke much about Walter anymore—though they didn't quite know why. Perhaps it was the shadow in Mother's eye when his name was mentioned. Maybe it was the way Dad's hand shook and he looked—yes, _old_. It could have been because Walter in death became such an ideal and hero for all that he had done that they could hardly remember who their boy-brother had been anymore.

Whatever the reason, talking to Tricia had brought it all back. Di remembered Walter reading her bits of his epic—the one he based on _Marmion_—as they sat in the sun-dappled hollows in Rainbow Valley. She remembered lamenting to him about her red curls in comparison to Nan's smooth, nut-brown pompadour, and him telling her that she was like a beautiful lily, lit with fire from the inside. He had made her feel beautiful then—she had never felt so lovely before or since. She remembered crying to him after Delilah Green betrayed her, and how he comforted her.

She knew that he and Rilla had grown close once the War started and she, Di, was busy with her Red Cross work and keeping Nan's mind off Jerry, but her relationship with Walter was stronger and deeper than her baby sister could ever imagine.

It was to Di that Walter told of his admiration for Faith Meredith—not love, for it had been obvious to all of them from the time they were children that Faith and Jem were meant for each other—but of how she embodied his idea of perfect beauty. It was to Di that Walter told of the kinship he felt with Gertrude Oliver. It was to Di he confessed his unaccountable shyness and nervousness every time he came near Una Meredith.

He had told her all his hopes and fears and dreams—how he wanted to be a professor of English at a university, yes, but also how he dreamed, one day, of being a famous poet, like Uncle Paul. He told her of the deep joy he found in beauty and the equally deep horror he had of ugliness.

And then—Di shivered, but she couldn't hold off the memory—the last memory before the War changed them all—or rather, the first memory of the change that was to come.

_Di had wandered out alone onto the rocks at the lighthouse dance. She was rather tired of dancing, and none of the boys who wanted to keep her company appealed to her in the slightest. She wanted to be alone—to wander at her own whim, to enjoy the magic of moonlight over the sea and rocks, to forget for a little while the horrible threat looming over all their heads. She glanced up a little impatiently as she heard Ken's deep voice, followed by Rilla's awe-struck laughter. She didn't want to be bothered by her moon-struck little sister and the charming Ken Ford tonight. Di slipped away, unseen and unheard, to a little hollow in the rocks, where the sea foam _almost_ touched the hem of her misty green dress._

_She sat there, dreaming dreams of beauty and romance, and suddenly, out of a heart too full for any other expression, laughed a trill of pure contentment._

_And then—_something_—grabbed at her throat, killing the laugh even as it rose. Oh, what was it? What _was_ it? What was happening?_

_She heard the sudden hush up at the lighthouse, followed by a perfect babble of frightened voices. She knew she should go up and ask—but she _couldn't_. For the first and only time in her life, Diana Blythe was too afraid to face reality._

_Then Walter slipped down toward the sea, his face very white in the dim light, his eyes great pools of haunted darkness. Di stood up._

"_Walter—Walter!" she cried. "What is it—oh, what is happening?"_

_He turned toward her—perhaps he had instinctively been making his way to her all along. "The Piper has come, Di. It is War."_

"_Oh—God!"_

_It was no profanity—Di's cry was that of heart blindly seeking its Father._

_Walter bowed his glossy black head. "I heard his music, Di. He will call us—all of us—Jem and Jerry and Ken and all—Shirley and Carl, too, eventually. The fight will last for years. Oh sister, I tell you I see it all! I'm frightened—frightened to the core of my being. This is—this _cannot_ be real."_

_Di bit her lip. She too believed it couldn't possibly be real—but it was. "And you," she whispered tremulously. "Oh Walter…did the Piper call you?"_

_He hesitated and refused to look at her. "I'm not healthy enough to go, sister."_

_It was the first time Walter had ever lied to her. Di saw the truth—the Piper _was_ calling, but Walter could not answer the call. She _knew_—he was the little lame boy in the story, the one who was shut out of the mountain. And she was glad—_glad_! She couldn't lose Walter._

_And yet—underneath her gladness was a hurt. She knew Walter wanted to go—but just _couldn't_, and was despising himself for it. Anything—_almost_ anything—was better than that._

_She went to him, put her arms around him, and he rested his head on her shoulder. Neither ever quite knew how long they stood there like that, simply taking comfort in each other's presence._

_"Hi—Walt!" came Jem's ringing tones down the shore. "Is that you there?"_

_Walter lifted his head. "Yes—Di and I are here."_

_"Una's got a headache, so we're heading back. Are you ready?"_

_Walter turned to Di. She nodded. The party, so far as she was concerned, was over anyway. "We'll be right there," he answered._

_Before they clambered back up the rocks, Walter gave Di's hand a tight squeeze. "Thank you," he said simply._

_Di made no response, but she was relieved to see the haunted look had gone out of his eyes._

Di wiped the tears off her cheeks. She still had Walter's last letter to her—the one he wrote the day before he'd been shot—but she couldn't read it. She'd read it once—after she got it—and couldn't read it again. It was such a typically _Walter-esque_ letter—full of do-you-remembers and snippets of poetry and dear little secrets just between the two of them. Only at the end had the shadow fallen. He thanked her for that night on the shore—neither had ever mentioned it before—thanked her for not despising him and not telling him she knew he was afraid—and told her not to mourn him if the Piper piped him "west"—that it was what he wanted, not to be left behind in the old world of ugliness and lameness and miss out on all the beauties that lay ahead. He told her to keep faith with him and all those who fought—that they were relying on the steadfast and true girls back home to fight with them in spirit if not body—and signed it,

_As always, your loving,_

_Walter_.

She suddenly felt quite tired. As she snuggled down into her pillows, she thought sleepily that she really should visit her family again—it had been too long since she'd been home. Home—where her Walter was all around, and the memories might not hurt so much, and she could pretend, just for a little while, that she was a little girl again, instead of a staid old maid trying to keep approximately twenty children clothed, educated, happy, and most importantly—loved.


	5. Chapter 5

Persis came into work, giggling, one hot, still August morning.

"What's so funny?" Di inquired curiously.

Persis controlled her face, but her sapphire eyes still danced merrily. "A young man was at the Kennedys' dinner party yesterday evening, and was _most_ attentive to the lovely and unattached Miss Ford." She bent at the waist in a mock bow.

Di's grey eyes began to glitter as well. Wherever this story went, if it involved Persis and a potential suitor it was bound to be amusing.

"He kept hinting around that he'd like to call on me sometime the next day. Mother asked me before she and Dad left to _please_ not announce that I work as a housemaid at parties—not that she's ashamed of it, but it does tend to make the rest of the guests uncomfortable."

"Go on," was all Di said.

"Well, since I couldn't tell him I was working, I just kept saying I had engagements all day long. He positively _begged_ me to cancel—in the smoothest manner possible!—as though he was doing me a favor—and finally I told him that I was a small space of time in the morning, between five and six, when he could accompany me on my daily constitutional."

"Oh Persis, you didn't."

Persis giggled. "So he showed up bright and early at my doorstep this morning, looking oh-so-dapper in his suit and straw hat, and there I am in my work clothes, and let him walk me _here_, to my job as a _servant_!"

The two girls burst into gales of laughter. Finally, Di straightened up, sobering. "Oh Persis, what will Aunt Leslie say?"

Persis grimaced cheerfully. "All too much, but it will be nothing I haven't heard before. Anyway, it served him right, condescending to _me_."

They were still giggling when the telephone rang. Di gave it a startled and fearful look. Nobody _ever_ rang up this early in the morning. Biting her lower lip uncertainly, she picked up the receiver.

"Shirley-Stedman Home, Miss Blythe speaking."

"Diana," came a familiar, but very grave voice.

Di's heart nearly stopped beating. "Dad? What's going on?"

"Uncle Gil?" Persis whispered. "What's wrong?"

"Di, is this a good time to talk?"

"Yes, all the children are still asleep, and Persis is right here beside me. Dad, you're frightening me."

"I'm sorry, dearest of daughters. It's just…" for a moment, Dad's voice wavered. He caught it and continued. "Rilla's not been feeling well lately, what with this heat wave and all…"

Di knew about the heat wave. It had been nearly unbearable in Toronto for the past month, with temperatures hovering near 37° every day. Rilla had been having dizzy spells and cramping even before they and the elder Fords left the city, but they'd all expected it would get better once they reached the Island. "She's still ill?"

"We confined her to bed this morning. Di—if you can get out here, I think you should."

Di went cold. "What are you not saying, Dad?'

"This pregnancy has been very difficult for her…and she fainted yesterday at the top of the stairs and tumbled down before Ken could catch her."

"Oh no," Di whispered. Standing close enough to hear the other end of the conversation, Persis placed a slim, strong hand on her friend's shoulder. Di gripped it convulsively and forced herself to stay strong. "Go on."

Dad's voice, like his daughter's, was steady, but Di could hear the pain behind it. "Jem and I are doing everything we can, but we're afraid she might lose the baby…and—and if things don't go well, we—we might lose Rilla as well."

Di's legs wavered, but she managed to stay upright. "I'll be there as soon as ferry and train can bring me."

"Good. I love you, Diana."

"I love you too, Dad. Give my love to Mother—and tell Rilla to keep fighting."

She hung up and faced Persis. The other girl was ashen, her sapphire eyes standing out above her white face.

"I'll go home and pack," Persis said. "Mother has probably been trying to call me and let me know, too. We'll leave as soon as we can, Di darling."

Di managed a nod. "I'll let Tricia know we'll both be gone for a little while."

Persis flew out the door, and Di forced her stiff legs to carry her upstairs. Her mind felt curiously numb. She kept picturing Rilla as a baby—the most beautiful baby ever born, so they'd all believed, with her chubby legs and red curls and darling little dented lip and hazel eyes that buttoned up when she slept…

Tricia was still asleep, but she woke up instantly when she heard the news.

"Of course you must go," she said at once. "Don't worry about a thing here. I can handle the children just fine on my own, and if we run into any problems I can always call Mrs. Stedman for help. Go, Di."

Di couldn't say anything around the strange lump of ice that seemed to have formed in her throat, but her eyes showed her gratitude. As she turned to go to her own room and pack a few necessities, Tricia added,

"And Di—I'll be praying for your sister and all your family."

"Thank you," Di whispered.

* * *

Three days later, two weary and heartsick travelers crept up the Ingleside verandah. It had been a torturous journey, as neither of them could sleep or eat much, and every step closer to home left them wondering what they would find when they got there. The numbness in Di's mind spread and spread until she couldn't feel or think anything. Her entire being was focused on one thing: _getting home_. 

The house was dark—most of the inhabitants must have been at the House of Dreams—but one light shone in the kitchen, and to that room the girls turned their steps.

A tall, slim, brown-haired and brown-skinned man sat at the kitchen table with two tiny baskets before them. He was murmuring softly and holding two bottles, one in each hand, to the inhabitants of those baskets.

At the weary footsteps approaching, he looked up, revealing a strong, good-humored face, a face that had suffered and been made strong through it. He smiled sympathetically at the two fearful faces before him, revealing even, white teeth.

"You made good time. Nobody was expecting you until tomorrow morning."

"What news?" Persis asked, fear trembling in every golden note of her lovely voice.

He shook his head. "Nothing yet. Jem said that the crisis would be tonight. Mother and Dad, Jem, Uncle Owen and Aunt Leslie, and Susan are all over there now. Faith, Jerry and Nan are all at the manse, watching Gil and the other little ones. They offered to let me stay with them, but my two prefer some privacy—just like their old dad." His tone was light, but they could see the worry in his eyes.

Persis turned to Di. "I'm going to go to the manse, dearest. I'd rather go to Ken, but I know they won't want anyone else over there right now. Do you want to come?"

Di shook her head. Weariness had settled over her, and she didn't think she could so much as walk into the next room, much less to the manse.

"All right. I'll tell Nan you're here in case she wants to come over."

Persis blew out of the room, back into the night, before either of the other two occupants could say anything more.

The babies had apparently finished feeding, for the man set the bottles down and rose up. Walking over to Di, her studied her frozen face for a moment, then simply put his arms around her and held her close.

At that, the dam broke, and all of Di's fears and emotions came rushing to the surface. "Oh—_Shirley_!" she gasped, and laying her head on his breast, she cried and cried, until there were no tears left.

* * *

A little while later, seated across the table from Shirley, a cup of hot, strong tea in her hands, Di felt some life start to flow back into her limbs and mind. Shirley, watching her critically, was relieved to see that the dead whiteness of her face was replaced by the flush left after crying, and her eyes no longer looked lifeless. She managed a wan smile at him over the rim of her cup. 

"Stop looking at me like that, Shirley. I already feel embarrassed enough about breaking down like that. What would my patrons think if they could have seen the poised and controlled Miss Blythe sobbing like a little child on her brother's shoulder?"

"They would have been as relieved as I was to see any sign of life. If you hadn't broken down spontaneously, I would have pinched you to force you to cry."

Di sighed and set the tea down. "I just don't think I can handle losing another sibling. I couldn't let myself think about it, and so I just shut everything down."

Shirley nodded. "I know. When Dad called me, that was my first reaction, too. But we have to remember that God won't give us more than we can bear, sister dear."

"Sometimes I think He already has."

Shirley reached over and patted her small hand, covering it completely with his large, brown palm. "He hasn't abandoned us."

Di pushed her unruly curls out of her eyes. "How are you doing, and how are my little niece and nephew?"

A grin twisted the corner of Shirley's mouth. "They keep me going. Only four months old, and already they are the light of my existence. Take a look yourself."

Di rose—a trifle unsteadily—to her feet and moved around the table to peek at the two tiny bundles sleeping peacefully in their baskets. Their little faces were scrunched up enough that she couldn't make out any features, but her heart melted at the very sight of their impossibly small bodies and downy heads.

"They are so precious."

"They are that. They're also already developing very distinct personalities—Matty is as quiet and calm as his father, and Meggie is the delight of both our lives."

"Matty and Meggie, eh?" Di sat back down and took another sip of tea. "No longer Joshua and Joanna?"

Shirley shook his head. "Matty and Meggie suit them." He grinned again. "Enough about me. How are you, and how are all your children?"

"The children are doing well. They adore Persis. She is turning out to be the best maidservant we've ever had."

"That doesn't surprise me," Shirley interjected. "Persis can do whatever she puts her mind to."

"She can at that," Di smiled. "Tricia is my mainstay, though. She is a delight and joy, and extremely efficient. Between her and Persis, things are running as smoothly as they ever have."

"And how are _you_?" Shirley asked again, eyeing her closely.

Di shrugged. "I've—I've been homesick lately. If it weren't for the fact that I'm worried sick about Rilla and the baby, I'd be wild with joy to be back. And—I've been missing Walter."

Shirley nodded, unsurprised. Di wondered if anything ever took him aback. "I thought about him quite a bit after Cecily—after I lost Cecily. It was a comfort to think that he would be there to greet her when she reached heaven, and I like to think the two of them are watching out for all of us now. And Joyce," he added, as an afterthought.

All the Blythe children had heard, ever since they were toddlers, about their sister Joyce, but they didn't think about her much. To be sure, Jem and Faith had named their daughter for her—little Cecilia Joyce—but that was more for Mother's sake than from any kinship they felt with their departed sister, dead before any of them were even thought of.

Just now, however, it struck Di that this wasn't the first time her parents, Susan, and Uncle Owen and Aunt Leslie had experienced this kind of fear. "This must be so hard on Mother and Dad," she said softly.

Shirley nodded, having followed her train of thought. "Dad told me yesterday that he is very afraid for Mother, what it will do to her if…if anything should happen to Rilla and the baby."

Di shivered. "I'm sorry—I know it's cowardly—but I can't talk about this. Every time we talk about what's happening, I feel as though I will go mad. Please, can't we talk about something else?"

Shirley nodded, but before he could even open his mouth, the door burst open and Nan flew in, followed by the rest of the siblings—Jerry, Faith, and Persis.

"Di!" Nan cried, rushing at her twin and hugging her tempestuously. "Why didn't you come to the manse? I've missed you so!"

And with that, the cool, charming, sophisticated Mrs. Meredith put her head down on her twin's shoulder and indulged in a little cry.

Jerry carried two-year-old Blythe and baby Johnny in his arms, but he managed to bend down and kiss his wife's head. "There, there, dearest," he said helplessly. He looked at Di. "I can talk an entire House down when necessary, but I can't do a thing when she cries."

Di laughed in spite of herself. "Don't worry, Jerry. I've had considerably more experience with her tears than you have." She patted Nan's shiny dark head and murmured comforting words.

Faith, holding little Walt in one arm and supporting Lily in the other, also came over to kiss Di's cheek. "As soon as Persis told us you were here, we had to come over. A night of waiting like this—it's best to endure it together."

Shirley hid a grimace. "If you'll all excuse me, I'll put these two back in our room. They don't take very well to large crowds." Picking up the baskets, he quickly escaped.

"I think Shirley's the one who doesn't take well to crowds," Persis said softly, smiling as she shifted the sleeping Gil in her arms.

Nan finally got control of herself. "I'm sorry," she hiccoughed. "It's just with everything going on—I needed my twin."

Di didn't say anything, but she was glad they were all there. Faith was right: in times like these, it _was_ best to be together. She put her arm around Nan's shoulder.

"Let me make you a cup of tea, dear. I promise, you'll feel much better."

Nan wiped her eyes on her dainty handkerchief. "I thought _I_ was the one who was supposed to be like Mother," she smiled. "Why are _you_ the one who agrees with her that tea is the panacea for any and every situation?"

Di simple smiled as she filled the kettle and got down enough cups for everybody. It was going to be a long night, and they needed all the sustaining they could get.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **37 degrees celcius is right around 100 degrees farenheit.  
_


	6. Chapter 6

Nobody, except the children, slept much that night. The Glen lay quiet and still, but at Ingleside, one lone light burning in the kitchen told of the lonely vigil held by six worried people. Every nerve was strained to hear the phone ring; every heart was praying for the youngest member of their close-knit group.

It was Nan who finally broke the silence that lay thick and heavy around the table. "Do you remember the party at the lighthouse, the night we heard about the War? Rilla was so excited. Mother thought she was really too young, but—Walter convinced her. Rilla was determined to be the most sought-after girl there."

"She was, too," said Faith, dimpling as she remembered. She and Jem had been married for four years and had two children, yet Faith still looked as young and beautiful as she had the day she charmed Norman Douglas into going to church. Persis was undoubtedly more beautiful, but Faith had a subtle and nameless allure to her that overshadowed all other girls. "Ethel Reese was so furious because Rilla was more popular than she was."

"Do you remember when she was a little girl and Mary Vance chased her down the main street with a codfish?" Jerry suddenly asked, smiling mischievously.

Everyone exploded with laughter at that old memory. Poor Rilla! After a moment, silence fell again, but everyone felt slightly better for that laugh.

"I remember Ken writing to me shortly after he left the Island," Persis said. "He told me he had fallen in love with Rilla, and please not to tell Jem because he was afraid Jem would thrash him for it. I didn't get as many letters from him after that…he was too busy writing to her, instead."

"She grew into such a beautiful woman during the War," Faith mused. "Not just physically, although she did that, but she matured and grew so much. So many other girls would have been crushed by—by everything that we all endured. Nan and Di, you had each other, and I had my nursing, but Rilla was here all alone, and she bore up and supported Mother Blythe…"

"And ran the Junior Reds to perfection," Nan added. "She wasn't completely alone, though. She had Una."

Jerry sighed. "I wish we had Una here now. We could use her comforting presence."

"She's busy comforting other souls now," Persis said solemnly.

"Oh, enough of this!" Di burst out suddenly. "Listen to us, talking as though Rilla is already dead! She's _not_—she's alive, and if Dad and Jem have anything to say about it, she will _stay_ that way."

Everyone looked slightly taken aback. Shirley patted Di's shoulder. "Easy, now," he murmured. "She's right, though," addressing the others. "If we must talk, let's talk about something simple and normal. It's the only way we'll be able to endure the waiting. Faith, what's the news on Bruce these days?"

Eighteen-year-old Bruce Meredith was in his second year at Redmond, and had already decided that he wanted to go on to divinity school after he received his B.A.

Faith looked relieved at the change in subject. "He's doing well—head of his class, and one of the most sought-after boys of the freshman and sophomore years."

"Little Bruce, a popular date?" Persis asked in surprise. "I always remember him as being so dark and emphatic and threatening-looking, even when he was happy."

Faith smiled. "Apparently that's what makes him so attractive to all the girls. They rave about his tall, dark, mysterious appearance. He wrote and said one girl even compared him to Mr. Darcy! 'Who's he, Mother?' he asked. 'Was he in the War?' We had to explain he was a fictional character from the early 1800s. He was _so_ disgusted."

Di laughed. She was a bit ashamed of her outburst, but she didn't think she could have stood the mournful reminisces any longer. "Has he met anyone he likes yet?"

Jerry was the one who answered this time. "No; you know Bruce. He is so focused on getting through his schooling so he can come back here and replace Dad as minister that he barely notices the girls except as nuisances who distract him from his work."

They were all smiling over that when the phone rang. There was a mad rush for the instrument, but Shirley, who was closest, merely reached out one long arm and answered.

"Yes?"

They listened impatiently to his end of the conversation, which consisted merely of a few "Mm-hmms," and "I sees" and other non-committal phrases. Finally, he hung up and swung around to face them, his face inscrutable as ever.

"Well?" Jerry finally demanded.

Shirley let out a breath. "That was Jem. Rilla made it through—but they couldn't save the baby."

"Oh!" Persis cried. The rest of them were dumb. Relief for their sister mingled with sorrow over their little niece or nephew.

"When may we see her?" Nan asked finally.

Shirley shook his head. "Not for a few days. She's still very weak. She doesn't know about the baby yet. Jem said it was a little boy."

"Little Aidan," Persis murmured. She wiped a tear away from one blue eye with a slender finger. "Ken told me that if it was a boy they were going to name him Aidan Kenneth."

Tears were shining in Nan's nut-brown eyes. "I know it's awful—I should feel horrible about the baby—but I'm just so relieved about Rilla. Our darling baby sister!"

They all indulged in a little cry together—tears of thankfulness and tears of mourning. They gained control over themselves just as the sun was peeking over the horizon.

Faith took her two upstairs to their room and laid down with them to catch a little nap before Jem came back. She knew he would need her comfort after such a difficult night.

Nan, Jerry, and Persis took the other three back to the manse, planning on doing the same thing.

Di looked across the table at Shirley. "I'm going for a walk," she said.

"Do you want company?"

"Not this time."

He nodded. "I'll see you in a bit, then."

* * *

Di had thought of meandering through Rainbow Valley, but her feet led her instinctively in the other direction, toward Four Winds. She passed Miss Cornelia's big house—they'd always thought it such a pretty color when they were children—and then went by the House of Dreams. The lights were on inside, and she could see Ken's silhouette in the upstairs window, his head in his hands.

She longed to comfort him, but she knew that any outside presence right now, no matter how close, would only intrude. He and Rilla would have to bear their first grief together.

She found the Fords' old rowboat attached to the pier below the House of Dreams and rowed herself over to the Four Winds Point, knowing that this was where she needed to be. Once there, she wandered down to the little rocky point where she had huddled with Walter the night of the lighthouse dance.

She stayed there for over an hour, an hour she never told anyone about, ever. There she wrestled with her deep grief over her sister and brother-in-law's pain; there she wrestled with the unaccountable envy she had felt at the moment Shirley told them the news; there she realized, for the first time, her deep desire for children of her own—yes, she would even bear the sorrow of losing one if she could only give birth! There she found the strength to accept her portion of life and not look back anymore. The past was over and done with; it could never return.

As she left, finally, she couldn't help but glance back one last time at the rocks. The waves were crashing nearby, and for a moment, the mist and foam almost took on the shape of a human.

Di shook her head. It was the early morning light—and her tiredness—and her emotional state—that made her think she could see Walter in the sea mist.


	7. Chapter 7

Two days before she was planning on heading back to Toronto, Di was finally allowed to see Rilla. She had seen Kenneth shortly after little Aidan's death, and was saddened at how haggard he looked. There were new lines in his face, his hair was silvering slightly around the temples, and the scar on his cheek stood out more plainly than ever. He didn't say much to anyone, but the look in his eyes was enough.

"He hasn't been this hurt by anything," Persis said softly as the two girls stood together to watch Ken hurry down the road from Ingleside back to the House of Dreams. "Not even when he came back from the War."

"I can't imagine losing a child," Di responded.

Persis smiled bitterly. "I can't imagine having a child to lose."

Di looked at her in surprise. "I didn't know you felt so strongly about it."

Persis shrugged her shapely shoulders. "I've always longed for children. It's one of the reasons I love working at the Home—if I can't have any of my own, at least I can be around them."

Di felt a sudden comradeship with her friend. She too felt that way about a family of her own, though she hadn't been willing to admit it to herself until just recently. She put her arm around Persis and they watched Ken's slightly stooped figure recede down the dusty road.

* * *

Di crept into the tiny bedroom at the top of the stairs. Mother and Aunt Leslie were both in there, Mother sitting by Rilla's bed and reading, while Aunt Leslie sat by the window and hummed softly to herself.

The windows were open to admit the sunlight and fresh air, but the room still felt dark and oppressive to Di as she moved to stand next to Rilla's bed.

She was shocked at the change in her little sister. Rilla's eyes were open, but not focused on anything, a haunted, empty look in them. On her face was a terrible, age-old weariness.

Di swallowed. "Hello, Rilla," she said quietly.

It seemed to take an enormous amount of energy for Rilla to turn her head and look at her sister. "Oh," was all she said.

What did one say to a woman who has just lost a child? "We've all been praying for you, dear," Di finally settled on. "You must hurry and get well."

"Why?" Rilla whispered.

Di blinked. "Well…for Ken's sake. And Gil's. And Mother and Dad and all of us. We're worried about you."

Rilla's eyes slid shut. "My son is gone…my little boy is buried in the cold, cruel ground. How am I supposed to go on?"

Mother leaned over the bed. "Enough of that sort of talk, Rilla darling. You must go on for the sake of all those that love you. You cannot give up."

But Rilla made no response. Sighing, Mother stood up and took Di outside, shutting the door behind them.

Di was stunned. "Mother—what's wrong with her?"

"She's grieving," Mother answered, sad wisdom hidden in her great grey eyes. "I know what it's like…I wanted to die when I lost my Joy. But your father and Captain Jim and Miss Cornelia and Leslie—and most especially, dear Marilla, all helped me pull through. Rilla—Rilla just won't let anyone in to help her. She's locked away in her own grief."

"She will get better, though, won't she?"

"We must have faith," was all Mother would say.

* * *

Di met Ken downstairs. He was seated at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the array of food Susan had prepared. She knelt down by his chair.

"Ken…I'm so very, very sorry. I wish there was some way I could help."

He turned to face her with fatigue evident in his face. "She's shutting me out, Di," he said hoarsely. "She seems to have forgotten that I lost my son, too. She won't talk to me, or even look at me. She slipping away…and I don't know how to hold on to her. Dear God, isn't it enough that we lost our baby? Must I lose my wife as well?" He buried his head in his hands.

Di stayed on for a little while, comforting him as best she could, but when she left, it was with the uneasy feeling that she hadn't really done much at all.

Persis was coming up to the house as Di was leaving. She raised one eyebrow questioningly.

"Any change?"

Di shook her head. "I don't know what to do for them, Persis," she admitted.

"I know," Persis agreed. "It's horrible to feel so helpless. When are you heading out?" changing the subject.

"Day after tomorrow," Di answered. "I feel terrible leaving everyone here like this, but I can't leave Tricia alone with the children for too long."

"Do you want me to come with you, or do you mind if I stay for a little bit longer? I hate to desert Ken at a time like this."

"Stay, by all means," Di urged. "I'd feel better knowing at least you were here. we can manage for a little while without you."

"Thanks," Persis replied. She sighed as she looked at the house and squared her shoulders. "Well, I'd best be inside. I'll see if there's anything I can do, even if it is just to relieve Mother or Aunt Anne for a little while. They've been by Rilla's side night and day, trying everything they can to help her. I'm just glad Gil is safe with Faith and Jem. It's not right to bring a child into a household like this."

"I hope Rilla remembers she still has one child," Di murmured as she walked away. "Little Gilly shouldn't be made to suffer for this loss."

* * *

Shirley drove Di to the ferry the morning of her departure. The ride was made in silence for the most part, but as they stood on the dock waiting for the boat to come in, Di released a long, long sigh.

"Feel better?" Shirley inquired.

She smiled ruefully. "I do. It's odd; even though this was such a tragic homecoming, and even though I am mourning for Ken and Rilla, I still feel the oddest sense of…peace."

"How so?"

Di answered, marveling as she did how Shirley was able to draw people out without ever using more than two or three words at a time. "It's hard to explain. I've been…restless for quite some time. I thought I was content and at peace with the way things were, but always, in the back of my mind, was a nagging little thought that I wanted something more. I love the Home…love the children…love what I do, but I still felt as though something was missing."

"And now you know what that was?"

Di smiled ruefully. "I guess I'm just an old-fashioned girl at heart. I want a family of my own. More than that, I want someone who can stand by my side and help me through the troubles and tangles of life. I don't want a husband for the sake of having a husband, but it would be nice to have a companion, someone to be a best friend for life."

"So what conclusion have you come to, sister o' mine, that brings this new peace to your eyes and face?" Shirley asked whimsically.

"The other morning when I walked down to the lighthouse, I wrestled this all out with God. I felt like Jacob…you know that old story in Genesis, of how he wrestled with the Lord? I realized, with Ken and Rilla's loss, that I couldn't bury my desires anymore. So I sat…and prayed…and struggled…and finally realized that I can't keep wishing things were different. This is the way life is right now. If I spend all my time wishing things would change…wishing Walter was still alive…wishing Cecily was still here…wishing Rilla didn't have to go through this valley of shadow…then I will miss the blessings this life has to offer me _right now_.

"I may not have a husband or a home of my own. I may never have that. But I do have brothers and sisters who love me. I have good friends. I have over twenty children whom I couldn't love more if they _were_ my own. It is time for me to focus on my blessings and stop regretting what was or could not be."

"So in other words, the contentment you were pretending to have before, you actually _do_ have now?" Shirley asked with a twinkle in his brown eyes.

Di laughed. "You might say that. The nice thing about this is that now I'm aware of my feelings, and therefore can have some control over them. When you pretend they don't exist, they get you down so easily. Now I'll have a way to fight when I start feeling gloomy over life." She sighed again. "I just wish Rilla could find some peace."

"She will," Shirley answered positively. "In her time."

"I suppose." Di looked out over the blue water, seeing the ferry starting to pull in. knowing she only had a few more moment with her brother, she spoke in a rush. "It sounds silly…but when I was fighting these things out, I really thought I could see Walter there, helping me and encouraging me…telling me to let him go, to stop mourning him, to move on with my life and have done with futile regrets."

"Oddly enough, that doesn't sound silly at all. I've had many a conversation with Cecily since she passed through the veil. The ones we love never truly leave us…they are just hidden from our sight. And sometimes, our eyes or our ears sharpen, and we can see or hear them, whispering to us on the wind."

This was so lyrical, coming from practical Shirley, that Di could only stare at him in wonder. He laughed and flushed a little.

"Look, here's the ferry. Have a good trip, dearest sister." He dropped a kiss on her cheek and handed her and her bag up the ramp.

As the boat pulled away, Di was still shaking her head. It seemed even Shirley had hidden depths to him!

* * *

She reached Toronto three days later, weary and worn, but somehow ready to face the long road ahead with no more pining for what could be or might have been. The children were radiant to see her back—even Olivia managed a weak smile—and Tricia was plainly relieved.

"They really behaved quite well, but I was lost without you," she admitted. "Di, you're a wonder. I don't know how you do it!"

Di smiled and picked up Mirielle, giving the baby a kiss on her rosy cheek. "All through grace, dear friend. All through grace."


	8. Chapter 8

Persis didn't return to Toronto until August was turning to September and Tricia was beginning to pack her bags for her own trip to the Island for her cousin's wedding. Di had been keeping up with her family via the telephone, but she was still glad to see Persis and hear in person how things were with the younger Fords.

"She's starting to come 'round," Persis said, sitting down with a sigh in Di's office and taking off her hat. She hadn't even bothered to go to her parents' large, empty house, but had come right to the Home from the train. "She actually cried the night before I left—I think that was the first time she's shed a tear since it all happened. And she asked about Gilly the day before that. For a little while there I think she had forgotten she had a son at all."

"I'm so glad she's starting to heal," Di said, her sea-grey eyes luminous with relief. "How's Ken?"

Persis flinched. "Things are still difficult between him and Rilla. He feels that she blames him for the loss of Aidan—because he didn't catch her in time to stop her from falling down the stairs. I think in reality he blames himself, but won't admit it. And of course, Rilla is so wrapped up in her own grief that she's hardly thought about her husband at all."

"Well," Di said inadequately. "Hopefully things will work out in due season."

"Meanwhile," Persis said briskly, "I'm so glad to be back! How are the children?"

"Running me ragged," Di smiled. "Once they hear you're back they'll be wild with joy—especially Paulette and Pierre."

"Any problems while I was away?"

"No. Katia hasn't been feeling well—I think the heat's been getting to her. Tricia's thinking about taking her to Carlisle for the wedding, to give her a break from the city."

Persis opened her blue eyes very wide. "Won't the other children be jealous? They've never gotten a chance to go to the Island—or anywhere, for that matter."

"If it was any other child, they might, but not Katia. She's so sweet. Everyone loves her. I think they'll all just be happy she gets a change."

The two girls sat talking about Home matters for a few minutes, and then Persis rose to leave. She made it out into the hallway and two steps toward the door when two small figures raced down the hall and flung themselves at her.

"You're back! You're back!" one kept squealing, while the other merely clung to her legs like grim death.

Persis bent down to untangle them, laughing as she did so. "Did you miss me?"

Paulette raised a reproachful face. "Why were you gone so long? We thought you didn't like us any more, didn't we, Pierre?"

Pierre didn't move from his position around Persis' legs, but he nodded emphatically.

Di stood in the open doorway of her office, watching amusedly.

"It's not that I don't like you—I love you children," Persis explained, still trying to detach Pierre. "I had to go help my brother. Your can understand that, can't you? Wouldn't you two do anything for each other?"

They considered it for a moment, then nodded in unison. "You're not leaving again, are you?"

"I have to go home now, but I'll be back in the morning."

Pierre clung a little tighter; Paulette's pretty face took on a distinct resemblance to a thundercloud. "Don't go!"

"Children," Di said warningly from her position. They glanced at her and subsided, though still pouting.

"I'll be back tomorrow," Persis repeated helplessly. "Don't be sad. It won't be very long."

"Tomorrow's _forever_ away," Pierre muttered.

"I know!" Paulette exclaimed, her face brightening. "You can take us with you and bring us back in the morning!"

Di hastily turned a laugh into a cough as Persis looked at her appealingly.

"I'm not sure Mother Di would approve of that," that young woman said feebly.

The two turned pleading faces toward Di. "Children, would you give Miss Persis and me a moment?"

Paulette grabbed Pierre's hand and pulled him away from Persis. "That means she's thinking about it," she hissed. "Come on!"

They dashed down the hall, leaving the two women alone. Di raised one eyebrow. "Well?"

A dimple appeared unexpectedly in the corner of Persis' mouth. "Believe it or not, I wouldn't mind having them come. Mother and Dad are still away, and the house does get lonely with just me and the housekeeper. I know Mrs. Crowley would enjoy having small children around again. But I don't want to do anything you don't approve of."

Di shrugged. "Actually, if you don't mind, I think it might be nice for them. They adore you, and the thrill of taking a trip to 'Miss Persis'' house will keep them occupied for months. After all, if Katia gets a trip to the Island, why not give these two a excursion as well?"

Persis grinned. "If you help them pack an overnight bag, I'll call Mrs. Crowley and tell her to prepare a guest room. She will be delighted."

* * *

A short while later, Persis left the Home with two perfectly happy children in tow. Di watched them go, shaking her head, and returned to work. At least, with his cohorts absent, Bran would be easier to keep in line.

* * *

As it turned out, there was an enormous thunderstorm that night—the worst of the season. It would come out afterward that entire trees were ripped up by the gale-like winds, and at least one house had been struck by lightning and burned to the ground (thankfully, the inhabitants were not home at the time).

Tricia was kept busy comforting the babies, while Di tended to the older children. The girls huddled together on one bed, their heads under the covers. When Di asked if they wanted her to stay, they popped those heads out and shook them no. She got the impression they were enjoying themselves at least as much as they were frightened.

The boys were in slightly better condition, but not much. Peter had gone and gotten Polly from Tricia's care, and was so absorbed in comforting her that he never even thought of being afraid. Freddy's face was white as his sheets, but he refused to admit to being afraid.

The rest of the boys also looked fearful, but while the Peter and Freddy were being brave, confess to it they would not. Di finally left them alone, with the offer that any of them could come to her at any time in the night, if they needed to. She highly doubted _she_ would be sleeping that night.

To her surprise, nobody came in until much later. It was about one in the morning when little feet pattered on the wooden floor, and a little hand tapped timidly at her door.

"Come in," she called, closing the book she'd been reading and setting on her nightstand.

To her surprise, the door opened to reveal Bran, his dusky face pinched with fear.

"Why, Bran," she said. He was the last child she would have expected to see, as independent and sturdy as he normally was.

"I—I'm scared," he admitted miserably. "The thunder is so loud."

Di held out her arms. "Come here, Bran."

He clambered up onto the bed and snuggled down beside her. "Now, "she said, tucking the covers in around him, "Don't you know that thunder is nothing to be afraid of? It's just noise. Noise can't hurt you."

"But it's so loud."

Di hugged him. "Did you know that most mythologies have a god of thunder? It's so loud and powerful-sounding that people used to think it had to be a powerful god making all that noise."

Bran started to look interested. "What's a _mythol'gy_?"

"Myths are old, old stories told by people who didn't believe in God. They would make up different gods and goddesses and tell tales about them and their different adventures. Almost every culture had their own mythology."

"Did Welsh people have a mythol'gy?" Bran had momentarily forgotten about the thunder and lightning still roaring outside. He was always interested in anything about his homeland.

"I'm sure they did, but I don't know much about it. Maybe the next time we go to the library you can look for a book about Welsh mythology." Bran had learned to read the preceding spring, and loved adventure stories.

He brightened up. "All right."

"Meantime, why don't I tell you about the Greek god of thunder, Zeus? He was the king of the gods and had all sorts of interesting adventures."

Bran leaned in against her. "Go on."

Di told stories of Zeus and his heroic son Heracles until Bran's head fell against her arm as he fell sound asleep.

* * *

A few weeks, later, Tricia and Katia left for the Island. It was hard to tell who was more excited between them.

Just as Di had predicted, none of the other children were the least bit envious of Katia, though they all hung on the fence to watch her leave, waving frantically every time she turned back, her face all smiles. Di was glad the young girl was getting a chance to do something special.

She knew she was going to miss Tricia, though. It was a relief that Persis was back. Di really couldn't remember how she had managed without at least one of the two there.

* * *

Shortly after Tricia's departure, Persis came to the backyard, where Di was playing tag with the children. Di had just been caught by Francesco and had the children shrieking with laughter at her deliberately clumsy attempts to catch one of them.

She looked up, breathless with laughter and flushed with fun. "Yes, Persis?"

Persis dropped a mock curtsey. "Someone to see you, Miss Blythe," her eyes glittering with amusement.

"Oh no, it's not a potential parent, is it?" Di asked in dismay. "I look dreadful. Put whoever it is in my office, Persis, and I'll see them as soon as I tidy up."

A musical, rich voice rolled out from behind the golden-haired woman. "I refuse to be 'put' anywhere, Di Blythe, and if you won't come to me, I'll come to you!"

A broad smile broke out over Di's face. "Patrick!"

Persis stepped aside to reveal a short, rather square man with light brown hair and crinkled blue eyes, smiling widely. "Surprised?"

Patrick Samuels was a good friend of Shirley's from their Redmond days. He and Di had become friendly from the very first time Shirley had brought him home to Ingleside, and their friendship had continued over the years. Patrick taught piano at the Toronto Conservatory of Music most of the time, but he had been gone for the past year, taking a class himself at a conservatory in Europe.

"I didn't know you were back," Di said, giving him a hug while the children watched with curious eyes. Some of them remembered Patrick from before he left, but to most of them, he was a stranger.

"Just got back last night," he answered. "Had a bit of a shock when the door was opened by this lovely young lady," giving Persis a friendly wink. "At first I thought one of those statues I saw in Europe had come to life and followed me home, but then I recognized her from your brother Jem's wedding. How are you?"

They talked for so long that Persis, assisted by Paulette and Pierre, ended up bringing tea out to them (and lemonade for the children, who soon got over their shyness of Mother Di's friend and were clambering all over him). Patrick had had a marvelous year in Europe, but he was glad to be back in Canada.

"Nothing like it," he said with satisfaction, stroking little Polly's hair. She was seated proudly in the place of honor on his knee, with Peter watching jealously from a short distance away. "I phoned Shirley as soon as I got in last night. He'd written to me about Cecily, but I wanted to hear from himself how he was doing."

"Shirley will always do well, no matter what," Di said fondly.

Patrick grinned. "He will that. He invited me to spend my winter break with him and the twins at Green Gables. You can imagine I jumped at the offer. I miss my old friend, and I'm especially eager to see those children of his—though it's hard to imagine they could be any sweeter than this little one," looking at Polly.

Polly was a reserved child, saving her caresses only for her brother, but she surprised everyone by suddenly flinging her arms around Patrick's neck and hugging him tight.

Di leaned back in her chair and smiled. It was good to have him back.


	9. Chapter 9

Tricia looked around her with delighted eyes as Uncle Bev's car came to a stop. Uncle Bev and Aunt Becca had offered to bring her and Katia out to the Island with them, since she had never gone before.

Uncle Bev smiled at her. He was a kind man, short, with brilliant blue eyes and a pleasant smile. "I remember my first trip out here, to the King farm. I thought I had come home for the first time in my life. See that willow there?" pointing to an absolutely enormous willow tree by the front door. "That was planted by my Grandfather King, after coming home from plowing one day. He stuck his willow switch in the ground, and it took root, and there it still stands to this day. There's a monument for you, eh?"

"Now, Bev," admonished Aunt Becca. She was only a year older than Tricia's own departed father, and very like him by all accounts. "You'll keep the girls out here all day with your stories if we let you. Let's get inside; the girls must be exhausted."

Uncle Bev smiled sheepishly. "My apologies, ladies. Just wait 'til Alan's Aunt Sara gets here, though. _Then_ you'll hear some stories!"

Tricia followed her aunt and uncle inside the old farmhouse, her eyes taking everything in. Suddenly remembering the silent child along with her, she turned her head to check on her. Katia smiled brilliantly up at her.

"It's just like something out of a fairy tale, Aunt Tricia," she whispered.

Well, Tricia thought, to a girl who escaped the horrors of revolutionary Russia and then lived in a city the next several years, an Island farmhouse probably _was_ just like a dream or fantasy.

They were met just inside the door by "Uncle" Dan and "Aunt" Kitty—all Alan's relatives told both Tricia and Katia to call them aunt and uncle to keep confusion to a minimum—and their two youngest: Steve, who was Tricia's age and engaged to his cousin Felicity Giraud ("Aunt" Sara's daughter), and Cecily, who was fifteen and very sweet and shy.

They poured welcomes on them effusively and whisked them off to the kitchen for a meal. Aunt Kitty was a fine cook, and Tricia watched with satisfaction as Katia tucked in and ate as heartily as she'd ever seen.

Dinner over, Tricia saw that Katia's eyes were drooping, so she put her up to bed in the room they both were to share with Cecily, despite the child's protests.

"I'm not a bit tired, Aunt Tricia," she claimed, stifling an enormous yawn with her arm.

Tricia hid a smile. "If you don't get to bed now, you'll be too tired to join in all the fun tomorrow. Aunt Sara and Uncle Laurent have two children close to your age. Don't you want to be awake enough to play with them?"

Thus reasoned with, Katia saw sense and was willing to be tucked in. Tricia kissed her goodnight, went back downstairs, and was met by bedlam.

Alan had come in from taking Anna for a stroll through Uncle Stephen's Walk and was hugging and kissing his parents. He saw Tricia and grabbed her into a bear hug.

"If it isn't little Patsy!" he cried.

Tricia made a face. "Oh Alan, _must_ you call me that? I hate that nickname."

Alan dropped a kiss on her cheek. "I know. That's why I use it." He led her over to where a tall, lovely woman was standing with his parents. "Cousin o' mine, I want you to meet Anna Petrova, the most beautiful woman in the world—except you, of course, Mum."

Anna immediately hugged Tricia warmly. "I am so pleased to meet Alan's favorite cousin I have heard so much about," she said in perfect, though slightly accented English.

She was tall and stately, with dark gold hair, high, broad cheekbones, and warm brown eyes. Tricia liked her at once.

"And I'm happy to meet the girl who stole my cousin's heart."

"But where is the little Russian girl Alan said you were bringing? I was so looking forward to meeting a countrywoman."

Tricia smiled. "She was worn out from the trip and excitement, so I put her to bed. you'll meet her in the morning."

"Good."

The two talked for a bit longer, until Uncle Dan finally begged all the young people to adjourn to the orchard.

"You young fry may be able to stay up all hours of the night, but we old folk need our rest. Go on, now, out you go."

Laughing, they all piled out to the famous King orchard, the trees aflame with the triumphant colors of late September.

"Oh," Tricia breathed.

"It is beautiful, is it not?" Anna agreed. "We are so hoping the weather stays fine so that we may be married underneath Alan's birth tree. The bridesmaids—you must see your dress, it is lovely—will be in crimson and deep green, and I'll bear a coronet of leaves on my head instead of a veil. Oh, it will be perfect, if only the weather cooperates!"

Tricia put her arm around the taller girl. "I'm sure it will. How could it not? Everything _has_ to come together for your wedding."

They were met in the orchard by yet more cousins—Olivia and Felicity Giraud, elder daughters of the famous Sara Giraud _nee_ Stanley; Maud, Elizabeth, and Sara Craig, minister's daughters from Avonlea, where Di's brother Shirley lived; Uncle Dan's older two, Alex and Katie, and…

Tricia caught her breath at the sight of him. Tall, broad-shouldered, devastatingly handsome, with dark brown hair, a dreamy, tender mouth, and velvety brown eyes…her head whirled around.

Alan let out a shout. "Blair! I was wondering when you were going to show up. Where've you been all day, you shirker?"

Blair—Tricia knew now that this was Blair Giraud, just Alan's age and as close to him as a brother—smiled distantly. "I've been exploring…visiting the old haunts Mother always told me about. This is my first trip here, you know. I must become acquainted with the land of my forefathers."

Oh, his voice! There were no words to describe it. One could say that it was clear and vibrant; one might call it pure and deep; it could be called rich and full and charming, and yet that still didn't do it justice.

His voice was as alive as he was—as alive or more so than Tricia or any of the other people there. He suddenly made everyone else seem plain and faded away—even Alan, Tricia's best friend and hero since childhood, suddenly seemed washed out and dull. Blair's voice was effervescent and animated and—

Before Tricia could gather her thoughts, he was right there in front of her, and Alan was introducing them.

"Blair, I want you to meet my cousin on Mum's side, Patricia Woods. Patsy, this is Blair Giraud."

Tricia writhed. Oh, _why_ did Alan have to use that horrible childhood nickname in front of this marvelous creature? She'd always hated being called Patsy—loathed it. When she was thirteen she had announced that she was Tricia, and refused to be known as anything else from that day forward. Alan just called her Patsy now to annoy her.

Blair smiled. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Patricia," he said in his melting tones.

"As—as am I," she managed lamely, stuttering a little.

He moved on, leaving her blushing and furious. Why—_why_ did she have to make such a fool of herself? Why couldn't she be poised and dignified, like Di? Di would never let herself be flustered by a handsome face and mellifluous voice.

Tricia was still kicking herself later that night when she crawled into bed next to Katia. She swore to herself that she wouldn't be such a little idiot again—the next time she saw Blair Giraud, she would be smooth and calm and elegant. He wasn't going to think of her as a foolish, stammering, idiotic little girl!

* * *

The next day—the day before the wedding—was full of preparations. Tricia met Alice and Jasper Giraud, the thirteen-year-old twins, who promptly whisked Katia off to Golden Milestone (their home when they stayed in Carlisle). The little girl was as lively and lively as Tricia had ever seen her. She smiled and thanked her lucky star that she had thought to bring Katia along with her. This seemed just what she had needed to perk her up.

Anna didn't have any family in Canada, so her bridesmaids were all from Alan's family. Tricia was maid of honor; Maud Craig, a black-eyed, black-curled, jolly twenty-two-year-old, Felicity Giraud, who was as beautiful as her brother was handsome, though without his unnamable charm, her fifteen-year-old sister Olivia, who was rather plain but spirited, and Cecily King were the bridesmaids.

The girls accepted Tricia instantly as one of their own, and several hours were spent ooh-ing and ah-ing over their frocks—Tricia was to be in crimson with green trim, and the rest were green with crimson trim.

They had barely emerged from the fittings when the young men strolled up. Everyone partnered off—Alan and Anna, obviously, while Steve and Felicity went off somewhere together, and the rest magically melted away, leaving Tricia alone with Blair.

She was telling herself sternly not to blush when he spoke.

"It would seem we have been abandoned."

His voice was laughing; it seemed to draw Tricia in and invited her to be a part of his private joke. She felt herself relaxing.

"So it appears. I think Alan's forgotten that I'm a stranger here."

"Have you never been to Carlisle?"

She smiled deprecatingly. "I've never been to Prince Edward Island at all. In fact, I've rarely been out of Toronto in all my eighteen years."

Blair raised his head and gazed off in the distance, over the farmers' fields and wooded spaces. "I was born in France—my father is French, you know—and traveled most of the world, but I've never seen a lovelier sight than this island. I almost can't forgive my mother for never bringing me here before." He shook his head and laughed; his laugh was as delightful as everything else about him. "Not that it's her fault. She's been back a few times with my siblings; I was just either in school or otherwise occupied."

"I wish I could travel," Tricia said wistfully. "I've never seen anything."

Blair offered her his arm. "Well, I happen to know we have a few hours yet before we must rehearse tomorrow's ceremony. Might I offer myself as your guide to Carlisle? I've been exploring ever since I arrived, and I know this area rather well."

Tricia smiled. "I would be honored."

They wandered all over that afternoon. He took her by Golden Milestone and told her the story behind how it came to be in his family's possession: its original owners, Jasper and Alice Dale, had been extremely fond of his mother in her youth, and never forgot her after she left. When they died childless, on the same day, it came out that they had left their home and everything in it to her. She was pregnant with the twins at the time; she and Blair's father came immediately to Carlisle to see their new home. While there, she gave birth to her two youngest children, and named them Jasper and Alice in loving remembrance of the dear, departed former owners.

"How sweet," Tricia breathed, looking at the old farmhouse. It wasn't a fancy house, by any stretch of the imagination—no wealthy Torontonian would have been caught dead inside a house like that—but Blair's story infused it with an air of romance.

By the time they made it back to the King farm, Blair and Tricia were firm friends and had known each other forever. As Di would have said, they were both of the race that knew Joseph.

* * *

Anna's prayers were answered, and the wedding morning dawned bright, crisp, and clear. As Tricia helped the blushing bride into her frosty white gown and carefully arranged the chaplet of leaves on her dark gold hair, she couldn't help tearing up a little.

"I am so very, very happy for you," she said, handing Anna her bouquet of golden chrysanthemums, orange nasturtiums, white camellias, and a few sprays of grey-green rosemary. "I couldn't think of a better match for my Alan."

The two hugged briefly, not wanting to spoil either of their dresses, and then made their way out to where the rest of the bridesmaids were waiting.

As Anna's parents were both dead, the couple had decided to eschew the traditional method of walking down the "aisle"—in this case, between two rows of fiery trees. Instead, each groomsman met his bridesmaid at the foot of the path and walked her down, and Alan himself met Anna and they walked hand-in-hand to stand underneath his tree and say their vows.

The wedding ceremony, performed by Alan's Uncle Peter, was long afterward talked of as one of the most beautiful ever done in Carlisle, but Tricia heard not a word of it. She had been escorted by Blair, and she could still feel the warmth of his hand under her arm. His deep brown eyes locked with hers the moment Alan began his vows, and she didn't notice anything else until she found herself, somehow, walking back down the path with him.

The reception, in the King tradition, was a large affair, full of dancing and food and fun. Tricia danced one dance with Blair, and decided that it really wasn't quite safe to do so again. she contented herself with the other cousins, even honoring dear Uncle Bev with one dance.

She laughed to see Katia's hand contended for amongst the young fry. It seemed every young boy at the wedding wanted to dance with the lovely girl. Before she agreed to dance with any of them, however, Alan swooped down upon her and whisked her away, beaming.

Tricia smiled and found Anna by her shoulder. "Alan and I have both quite fallen in love with your Katia. She is such a sweet child."

"Yes, she is," Tricia agreed sincerely. "Everyone who knows her loves her."

Uncle Felix, the plump, jolly bachelor brother of Uncle Bev, came up then to claim Anna for a dance. Tricia stayed on the outskirts, glad to rest her feet for a while and watch the whirling mass.

Blair looked across the orchard at her and wondered what had happened to him. He had no desire to marry yet. His mother had been thirty-four when she married, and he fully intended to wait at least that long. Then he came to Alan's wedding and met this slender slip of a girl, with light brown hair and hazel eyes and a smile that seemed to hold all the secret knowledge of women from before time began…and he was lost. He knew now that he was meant to marry Patricia Woods—how beautiful she had looked, when she scowled at her cousin for calling her that! The only question remaining was how long it would take until _she_ knew that they were going to marry.

Tricia caught sight of Blair watching her intently and blushed. She didn't understand the way she felt—she had barely met the man two days ago!—but she was relieved she was going to be going back to Toronto in a few days. She _liked_ her life and her work at the Home, and she didn't want anything interfering with that—not even the most handsome man to ever set butterflies dancing in her stomach.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **I thought it was time to give Tricia a little life of her own--let me know what you think! I hope you all like the introduction of the "Story Girl" characters--we'll see a bit more of them as the story progresses. _


	10. Chapter 10

**_Author's Note: _**_In order to cut down on confusion, I decided to include my Story Girl/Golden Road family tree. The date of birth for all the original characters is as close to accurate as I could manage, based on clues in the books.

* * *

_**  
**

**Sara Stanley (1875) m. Laurent Giraud (1870) – 1904**

Blair Stanley Giraud (1906)

Felicity Gabrielle Giraud (1908)

Olivia Grace Giraud (1910)

Alice Berthe Giraud (1912)

Jasper Benoit Giraud (1912)

**Beverly King (1876) m. Rebecca Woods (1874) – 1898**

Alan Woods King (1906)

**Donald King (1876) m. Katharine Marr (1877) – 1900**

Alexander Donald King (1902)

Katharine Janet King (1904)

Stephen Marr King (1907)

Cecily May King (1910)

**Felicity King (1877) m. Peter Craig (1877) – 1896**

Sara Felicity Craig (1897)

Elizabeth Cecily Craig (1900)

Maud Emily Craig (1903)


	11. Chapter 11

The months slowly changed, and November rolled in…such an ugly, miserable month, Di had always thought. This year was no different, though there were a few bright spots.

First was Patrick's farewell visit before leaving for Avonlea. He stopped by the morning of his departure, wearing his usual smile and bearing a basket under one arm.

"I couldn't leave without saying good-bye," he told Di. "Do you have anything you want me to take for Shirley or the twins?"

"As a matter of fact…" Di said, eyes twinkling. She reached under her desk and pulled out a box. "I was going to mail this, but I'll send it with you instead. It has their Christmas presents and some goodies. I don't trust you men to come up with a true Christmas dinner on your own."

Patrick hastily turned a laugh into a cough. Di's lack of cooking skills were legendary, and it was a well-known fact that he himself was something of a chef. "I'm sure we'll appreciate them," he said from behind his hand. "As it turns out, though, Shirley told me we were going to be having Christmas dinner with the Craigs. Apparently Mrs. Rev. Craig doesn't trust our cooking abilities any more than you do." He set the basket down. "And I have here Christmas presents for you, Tricia, and Persis…and something for little Polly, if you'll permit it."

He reached in and pulled out a sleepy, squirming ball of grey and white fluff. Di bit her lip. For various reasons, she didn't allow pets in the Home, but Patrick's face was so hopeful she just couldn't bring herself to disappoint him. Still, just to tease him, she put on a stern face.

"We at the Shirley-Stedman Home do not allow the children to keep pets," she said in her haughtiest tones. "They are flea-ridden germ carriers, and cannot be trusted around the furniture. Besides, I'm not sure if I can allow Polly to be accepting gifts from men yet. She is far too young for you."

Patrick merely grinned. "So I'll leave this little one with you, then. Can you keep it hidden until Christmas?"

Di shook her head. "One of these days I'll learn how to say no to you."

"Have a wonderful holiday."

"Enjoy your vacation. Give my love to Shirley and the twins."

With a cheery wave, Patrick strode out the door.

When Tricia poked her head in the office a few minutes later to deliver the mail, she found Di regarding the kitten with distaste. Unlike Nan, who adored cats, Di only tolerated them. She handed it over to Tricia hastily, ignoring the girl's look of surprise. "Here, take care of this for the next few weeks, will you? It's a Christmas present for Polly."

Glancing down at the desk, she saw a letter addressed to Tricia. "Here, this one is yours."

Tricia blushed and snatched it up, cramming it into her pocket. "I must have dropped it by accident," she said, trying to sound casual despite the deep red flush staining her face and neck. Clutching the kitten to her chest, she hurried out, leaving Di wondering what was so embarrassing about a letter from one Blair Giraud.

* * *

The last day of November was enlivened by another visit—this one by Alan and Anna King. Apparently Tricia hadn't been expecting them, because when she saw Persis ushering them into the sitting room, she let out a squeal and raced to throw her arms around her cousin—followed moments later by Katia, who enveloped Anna in an enormous hug of her own.

Di came out of the playroom, surrounded by the other children, all attracted by the noise. She stared in disbelief. When had Katia ever shown that much joy?

Alan kissed Tricia on the top of her head and came to greet Di, his hand extended. "Miss Blythe? Alan King. This is my wife Anna."

Anna tucked Katia in under her arm and also came forward, smiling charmingly.

"I'm very pleased to meet you," Di said cordially, shaking their hands. "I take it this is a surprise visit?"

Alan smiled. "Quite. However, as much as it delights me to see my little Patsy again…" winking at Tricia.

Di just barely managed to keep a straight face. Patsy?

"…We're actually here on business."

"I see. Shall we adjourn to my office, then?"

"That would be good, thank you."

The three of them went into the office, Alan closing the door behind them and taking his wife's hand. Di took advantage of the quiet moment to look them over.

Despite their youth—Alan was nineteen and Anna twenty—they both looked quite responsible and mature. Anna's face showed suffering and strength, and Alan had a twinkle in his blue eyes that reminded Di overwhelmingly of Patrick.

"So what can I do for you?" she inquired.

Anna merely looked expectantly to Alan, who took a deep breath before replying. "Miss Blythe—my wife and I would like to adopt Katia."

Di's eyebrows flew up nearly to her hairline. _This_ was not what she had been expecting! "I see," she said, trying to adjust to the idea. "May I ask why?"

"When Tricia brought her to the wedding in September, we both fell in love. There is a very good possibility that we might not be able to have children of our own—my parents had to wait eight years before having me, and apparently the doctors didn't think I would make it full term. Anna, also, is an only child, and saw five siblings die before or on birth."

He took a deep breath. "We had talked even before we got married about adopting children—in part because of Tricia's involvement with your work here. Anna hoped to adopt at least one Russian child, and Katia is one of the sweetest little girls we've ever seen."

Di was impressed by how reasoned and well-thought-out this was, but she still had a few reservations. "You are aware that Katia is ten?"

They both nodded. "There will only be nine or ten years between you. This doesn't concern you?"

Anna spoke for the first time, passion pouring through her accented voice. "Miss Blythe, it is not physical age that marks a person, it is their experiences. I, too, lived through revolution, and remember far more than I wish. The things I have endured have aged me far beyond my years, as have Katia's experiences. We share a bond, not only as Russians, but as sister sufferers. I may be young to be a mother, and she may be too old to be my daughter, but we are bound together nonetheless."

Di glanced at Alan. "You feel the same?"

"Obviously I have not shared their experiences, but I can tell you that I felt as though Katia were my own from the first time I saw her," he nodded.

Di let out a breath, feeling suddenly sad. "Well…in that case, I say we should begin the paperwork. Perhaps you would like to tell her yourself?"

The joy on their faces more than made up for any sorrow she felt over losing the little girl. This was an ache she felt every time one of her children was adopted—a compound of joy for them and sorrow for her and the rest left behind.

* * *

And so, a few weeks before Christmas, Katia had left their midst to become Ekaterina Petrova King, beloved daughter to Alan and Anna. It was many years until Di saw her again, but seeing the beautiful and talented woman the child had become, she knew she had done the right thing.

The children were less sad to see her go than they might have been, as Christmas was exciting them all. This holiday was always the high point of the year for the Home. there were too many birthdays between twenty children to celebrate them all, particularly as many of the children had no idea when they were born.

Di was unable to give the children pocket-money, so Christmas was always a time of great ingenuity in coming up with gifts. The babies, of course, never bothered about it, but the older ones always drew names, and there was much competition to come up with the best gifts.

Freddy, the creative one, made his gifts out of whatever scraps of wood and cloth he could find lying around. Peter hoarded whatever spare change he got throughout the year and spent it all at Christmastime.

Most of the others fell somewhere between the two—either making their gifts or spending whatever little money they had come by, but Pierre and Paulette had to be watched to make sure they didn't go overboard. Di still shuddered when she remembered going out for her own shopping last year and seeing the two of them dressed as beggars, caps in hand, pleading for money for their poor starving mother and baby sisters from the well-dressed passer-by!

This year, however, they were not as extravagant. There was much whispering in the corners between the two of them, however, and when they came to Di solemnly the week preceding Christmas, she couldn't help but feel slightly apprehensive.

"Mother Di," Paulette began, her big eyes very important. "We want to get Miss Persis a Christmas present. We have one dollar between us—is that enough?"

"How did you get one dollar?" Di asked nervously.

"We sold all of our dead snakes and mice and our live toad to the boys at school," she explained.

Di was amazed. For reasons she couldn't understand (beyond tormenting the housemaids), those were the twins' prized possessions—and now they had sold them off quite cheerfully to buy a present for Miss Persis! It spoke of the love they bore for her, and Di felt a shiver of worry as to what would happen to them when Persis finally left them—for Di knew she wouldn't stay forever.

She put that aside, however, and sat down with the two to figure out just what kind of a present they could buy with one dollar.

Elisabetta and Francesco, meanwhile, took over the kitchen one day, much to Mrs. Goccia's dismay, and made cookies and candies to give away as their presents. Elisabetta was quite clever in the kitchen, but Mrs. Goccia still moaned and groaned when the two finally finished and left her with all the sticky pots and pans to be washed.

Olivia hated Christmas, but she grudgingly spent a few of her hoarded away coins each year on a cheap present for whomever she drew. Di knew, though Olivia tried to keep it a secret, that the little girl saved all the money she had ever gotten from her grandmother and relatives, and was planning on using it when she was old enough to leave the Home and live by herself.

Bran wandered around miserably for a week, unable to think of anything to do for Christmas presents, until Di finally took pity on him and told him that if he helped her out in the office, she'd pay him a nickel each day.

He brightened up immediately, and after that, he spent an hour or two with her every day, organizing papers, carrying out her trash, running errands, and carrying messages to and from the staff.

Di had expected him to be more trouble than help, and was pleasantly surprised when he turned out to be quite useful. Given a real task, real responsibility, he put aside his tricks and mischief, and worked diligently and well.

Of course, he was still Bran, as Di realized when he brought in her daily cup of tea—flavored with salt instead of sugar!

* * *

Christmas morning dawned bright and clear and crisp. The children all woke before dawn and tumbled down the stairs in their eagerness to see the tree Di, Persis, and Tricia had put up the night before.

Persis was with them that morning. "I should be with the family," she confessed to Di. "But Mother and Dad are spending the day with Ken and Rilla, and things are still so strained between the two of them that it's misery to spend much time around them. I know that everyone will put on happy faces and pretend to be excited for Gilly's sake, but I can't do it."

Di understood. The few times she had been with her sister and brother-in-law, she wanted to shake them and _force_ them to talk to each other. The polite tension between then was palpable, but neither would admit it, pretending to themselves and the world that everything was fine.

Squeals and shouts of delight echoed through the Home as the children dove into their gifts. Tricia had knitted all of them mittens and scarves—and swore to Di that she would never touch a pair of knitting needles again. Persis had brought candy and oranges and tops for all the children—and a large encyclopedia of reptiles for Paulette and Pierre.

The Stedmans always bought winter coats and boots for the children each Christmas, and the Blythes always combined resources for something special. This year it was ice skates—Shirley's idea, Di assumed. Cecily had been a talented skater, and Shirley held it dear for that reason.

Di herself bought something specific for the children: a copy of the _Mabinogion, _the famous collection of Welsh myths, for Bran; a book on the history of Britain for Peter, who was fascinated with his home land; art supplies for Freddy; a football for Francesco, the athlete…and so it went.

Persis was thrilled with the bottle of perfume and bangle bracelet given to her by the twins. Di knew they were both junk in comparison to the accessories she normally bought in Paris, but she to gauge by her reaction, they were the finest treasures ever.

Polly's kitten—instantly named Bob, for some strange reason, by the little girl—was also a huge success, and even Peter forgot his jealousy of Patrick long enough to pat the creature on its head.

Di herself was pleased and touched by an unexpected gift: a teacup and saucer from Bran. The cup itself was dreadfully ugly—garish reds and blues in a hideous pattern—but the fact that he had been working partly to buy her something meant the world to her.

"I love it," she told him sincerely. "Thank you so much."

He squirmed a little. "Since you like tea so much, I thought you might like a pretty cup to put it in," he said innocently. "Do you really like it?"

Di kissed his face warmly. "I'll treasure it always."

The rest of the day was spent in trying out new gifts, stuffing themselves with the marvelous dinner sent in by the Stedmans, and playing games in the playroom, ending with carols sung around the Christmas tree. Di wished briefly that Patrick could be there with a piano, but listening to the childish voices raised in a hearty chorus of "Joy to the World," she was happy with things just as they were.

* * *

_By the way, for all the Americans, the football that was bought for Francesco was what we would call a soccer ball--they didn't start calling it football in Canada until the next year._


	12. Chapter 12

Di came out of her office feeling the usual mixture of joy sadness she always felt whenever a child was adopted. This time it was Mirielle, the baby of the Home. although Di was delighted that the little girl would be able to grow up in a good family, she was going to miss the bright eyes and smile and nonsensical baby-chatter of little curly-haired Mirielle.

Tricia joined her at the front door, blinking away a few tears as the two of them waved goodbye to the happy couple and Mirielle.

"I'm really going to miss her," she said softly.

Di placed a sympathetic hand on the younger girl's shoulder. "I know."

"She was a darling, wasn't she?" added Persis, coming up behind them and waving over their shoulders.

"Come on, ladies," Di said, remembering her responsibilities and turning away. "We still have a number of children needing our attention."

"What will you do when they are all adopted?" Persis inquired mischievously.

"There will always be more orphans than Homes for them," Di replied seriously.

"Well, that's cheerful," was Persis' sarcastic reply.

Tricia had ignored this exchange, still watching the receding figures walking down the street. "I can't wait until I have children of my own."

"Is that likely to happen any time soon?" Persis asked, winking at Di.

Tricia rolled her eyes. "_No_."

"Really?" Di asked innocently, joining in the teasing. "Then all those thick letters you've been receiving from a certain M. Blair Giraud are meaningless?"

Tricia flushed bright red. "Well, at least I'm still young enough to _have_ children," she snapped. She clapped her hand over her mouth and turned redder red, her face showing her horror at what she'd just said.

Di's own face turned slightly red as she tried to suppress a laugh. Tricia was so rarely angry that it was rather like watching a pet kitten suddenly sprout claws and attack. Persis, she saw, was speechless with shock.

Tricia, still embarrassed, mumbled something inaudible and rushed off. Di allowed herself a laugh once the girl was our of earshot, and Persis slowly regained her equanimity.

"Are we really that old"? she asked in a mock-sad tone.

"I don't know about you," Di answered, her eyes shimmering greenly. "But _I_ just had my thirtieth birthday last week. I believe that officially qualifies me as ancient."

Persis shuddered. "I'm not so far from that grim fate myself."

"It doesn't really bother you, does it?" Di arched one slender eyebrow.

Persis shrugged. "Not especially, but lately I've been wishing I had a family of my own. I had such fun with Paulette and Pierre that night they spent with me this past fall…I'm in no hurry to get married, but I do hate the thought of never having children." She shook herself slightly. "Listen to me, maundering on. I've work to do."

As Persis walked off briskly, Di leaned against the still-open door, her eyes gazing out into the street, not really seeing anything, just letting her mind wander.

Her age really didn't bother her, although it was odd to think that her mother had had four children by the time she was thirty—five if you counted Joyce. Di knew she was getting older, but she was actually almost happy about it. Youth, with its worries and heartaches, was something she was glad to put behind her.

She was still lost in a reverie when a teasing voice said,

"Building castles in the air?"

Di started and found herself looking directly into the laughing blue eyes of Patrick Samuels. She drew herself up and answered with dignity,

"Of course not! A responsible Orphan Home matron does not indulge in such things. I was planning out tomorrow's schedule."

"Mm-hm," Patrick answered skeptically.

Di laughed. "No, I was just day-dreaming. What bring you back here so soon?"

Patrick had stopped by the previous week to give Di her birthday gift: a copy of _Walden_ (they were both fond of Thoreau, and could spend hours arguing over his philosophy).

He held up a letter triumphantly. "This."

Di stared at it blankly. "What is it?"

"It's called a let-ter," he said, speaking slowly and with great emphasis. "It's what two people use to communicate over long distances; children learn to write them at a very young age."

"Very funny," she said dryly. "Who's it from?"

"That's what I wanted to share with you," looking as nervous as a little boy with a secret. "Could we go inside?"

Curiosity piqued, Di led him into her office and closed the door before turning expectantly to him. "Well?"

Patrick licked his lips nervously. "Well…have you ever heard me mention Elizabeth Craig?"

The question was so unexpected that for a moment Di couldn't place the name. She scrambled about in her memory a bit before recalling. "Isn't she one of the Avonlea minister's daughters?"

Patrick nodded and shifted his feet. "I met her when I stayed with Shirley for Christmas. We got along rather well, and we've been corresponding ever since."

He paused, and Di waited for the point. She was surprised to feel a bit of a jealous pang at the thought of Patrick being friends with another woman. She knew it was ridiculous—she had no claim on him—but she didn't like the idea of sharing his friendship.

Patrick cleared his throat. "This is good news…I don't know why it's so hard for me to say. The long and the short of it, Di, is that…well, I wrote and asked Elizabeth to marry me about two weeks ago, and today I received her answer: yes. I'm engaged."

Di felt as though she'd been hit in the stomach—hard. For a moment, she couldn't even breathe. She had no idea _why_ the news that Patrick was getting married was so awful, but her heart wrenched nearly in two.

Then she caught a glimpse of Patrick's face; it was uncertain, hoping for her approval but nervous that she wouldn't understand. Di swallowed her confusing emotions, storing them away for inspection at a later time, and pasted a smile onto her face.

"Congratulations, Patrick!" It sounded flat to her ears, but Patrick's face broke into a relieved smile.

"I wanted to tell you a long time ago, but first I was too embarrassed, and then I was too nervous she'd turn me down. I didn't even tell Shirley…I still can't believe she said yes."

Di was starting to get her second wind. "Come now, don't sell yourself short. But Patrick! I cannot believe you didn't tell me anything at all about this! I didn't know you even knew Miss Craig, and now you're engaged? How did it all happen?"

Patrick laughed, himself again. "I'm not really sure. She is pretty, for one thing—black curls, snapping black eyes, rosy cheeks, dimples—all that. And she's smart, and easy to get along with. She likes to read and sing, loves nature—we just had a great deal in common. She's never been terribly attracted to any of the Avonlea young men, and I've never found a woman I could marry—it just made sense."

"And so you asked her to marry you?" Patrick didn't sound much like a man hopelessly in love. It sounded to Di as though the match were a mathematical equation more than anything else.

He shrugged. "I'm thirty-five, Di. I want to settle down. I hate living in the city—I've always needed plenty of solitude and peace, space to be alone with my thoughts, and room to breathe. I fell in love with Avonlea the moment I drove over the bridge spanning your mother's 'Lake of Shining Waters.' I can teach music there, and farm on the side. We won't be rich, but we'll be happy."

Di felt troubled. She wished she could tell Patrick his reasons for marrying sounded all wrong—but that just seemed too presumptuous.

"I know it doesn't sound romantic, but I've never been an overly romantic person," he said, as if reading her thoughts. "Romance isn't the most important thing in a marriage, Di. I think respect, and admiration, and…appreciation for the other's characters…friendship…those sorts of things, are a more solid base than infatuation."

Di agreed in principle, but she also believed that love grew _out_ of those things. If a relationship stayed perfectly platonic, she wasn't sure marriage was the best choice. A loveless marriage just sounded…well, _miserable_ to her. more importantly, however, it seemed as though Patrick was trying to convince himself as much as her.

"I'm not judging you, Patrick," she said gently. "If you're happy, then I'm happy for you."

"I am happy," he stated firmly.

She hugged him. "Then so am I."

* * *

Di sat at her desk for a long time after Patrick left, taking stock of her feelings.

She _wasn't_ in love with Patrick; the idea was too ridiculous. They had known each other for nearly five years, ever since Shirley brought him home for a visit the summer of Jem's wedding.

The two of them had hit it off at once, and were brought only closer by Shirley's love troubles. Both cared a great deal for the youngest Blythe son, and worked together consciously and unconsciously to help him through his hard times.

Their friendship had only grown stronger over the years, but Di knew she wasn't in love with. She _loved_ him, yes, but only as a dear friend.

So why did the news of his engagement hurt so much?

* * *

By the end of May, Di had become reconciled to Patrick's engagement. She still felt an odd pang at times over it, but she put those down to a selfish desire to not have share him with anyone, and ignored them.

She also had concluded that the pain she'd felt at the news of his engagement came only through the lack of love she saw in his eyes. She knew what true love looked like—she had seen it on the faces of her parents and all her siblings—and Patrick showed no symptoms. She hated to see him trapped for life in a loveless marriage, but if he was willing to endure such, who was she to stop him?

Still, it did bother her. She didn't say anything to anyone about it, but she worried over it at nights. How could he marry someone he didn't love? And did Elizabeth love him, or was she as blasé about it as he? And what would happen to Patrick's soul once he was irrevocably bound to her? Would he still be _Patrick_, or would he shrivel up into a dry husk of his old self?

Such questions tormented her at three in the morning, but the rest of the time she was able to push it to the back of her mind.

Meanwhile, Persis was growing visibly more discontented. Di had never expected her to stay so long as a housemaid—it had been over a year now—and so when Persis asked to speak with her one morning, Di was prepared.

"What's troubling you, Persis?" she asked when it became obvious the other didn't know how to begin.

Persis shrugged miserably. "I don't know! I've just been feeling so restless lately." She leaned her elbows on Di's desk and propped her chin up with her elbows. "Do you remember how we all though the War marked the beginning of a new era—how we were going to build a better world than the one before? Do you remember how sometimes the only thing that would keep us going through the darkest hours was the belief that it was all worth something, that something great would come from all the pain and suffering?"

"Of course," Di replied slowly, wondering why all conversations with Persis ended up being so deep, emotional, and passionate.

"Why hasn't that happened? The world hasn't gotten better; it only seems to be getting worse! We aren't building a new world, we're blindly frolicking on the ashes of the old one."

Di blinked. "Poetic exaggeration aside, I don't think things are quite _that_ bad."

"That's because you _are_ doing something. You are taking in children no one else will, _and_ you are instilling values and principles in them. You truly are living up to what we all _said_ we were going to do after the War—building a new and better world."

"I'm flattered, Persis. But I thought the whole reason you started working here last year was so that you could do something meaningful, too. What changed?"

"I don't know," Persis confessed. "All I know is that this isn't enough anymore."

"What would be?"

"I wish I knew." Persis shrugged. "I don't mean to be ungrateful, but I just need something _more_." She looked at Di helplessly. "What's wrong with me?"

"Nothing," Di laughed. "Persis, ever since we were kids you were always the most adventurous and daring out of all of us—even the boys. Well, maybe not Jem, but you were on a par with him! You always had to be doing something new and exciting. You were never content to just stagnate in one place. I'm actually impressed you were able to stay here for a full year!"

Persis laughed ruefully. "Thanks, I think."

"I'll start looking for another housemaid," Di said. "That way, when you figure out what it is you want to do, you won't have any obligation holding you back."

"Thanks," Persis said again. she sighed. "I will miss the children if I leave…especially Paulette and Pierre."

"They'll miss you too," Di said sympathetically. "But I'm afraid that's just the way it is. You can't have it all, my friend."

Persis pushed her lower lip out in a mock pout as she went out of the room and back to her duties.

* * *

As the weeks went by, Di found and hired a new housemaid. The children were heartbroken at first to learn that Miss Persis wasn't going to be working there anymore, but they were soon comforted by the fact that she still came by to see them every day, and now was able to spend even more time playing with them, since she didn't have any chores to distract her anymore. She even took Paulette and Pierre out into the city for the day a few times.

Meanwhile, Patrick was back in Avonlea now that school was done for the summer. He was staying with Shirley and teaching music to the local children. His letters to Di were cheerful, but he sounded, at least to her, to be happier about his early-morning solitary rambles through the woods than his hours of sitting on the manse's front porch with his fiancée.

Di wouldn't let herself ask Shirley about him, and her brother offered no information in his letter, but she dearly would have liked his opinion on Patrick and Elizabeth. Ever since the War, she had come to rely on Shirley's judgment to a surprising degree.

If her brother was silent on the subject of his friend, there was no lack of news about Meggie and Matty. The twins were over a year old now, and their proud papa filled pages with tales of their accomplishment and exploits. Di laughed at him for it, but was secretly just as proud of them as he was. He'd even included a couple of photos in his last letter.

Matty was just as brown and wholesome as his father—even at his young age, he exhibited the same quiet and calm temperament.

Meggie, though she bore Shirley's brown hair and eyes, was much more her mother's daughter. Her little elfin face was all smiles and delight, and she looked as though she held all the secrets of fairyland in her tiny palm.

Shirley wasn't the only one of the family to write of the children. Faith wrote regularly, telling proudly of three-year-old Lily, already the beauty of the family, and Walter, at two a cheerful hellion with his mother's golden-brown hair and his father's hazel eyes.

And Nan also sent frequent updates on her three—handsome Blythe, now three, quiet John Knox, a year old and usually overshadowed by his clever elder brother, and baby Diana Anne, only a few months old but already promising to be quite the beauty herself.

While Rilla had no need to write to Di, living as she did only a short distance away, she too boasted proudly about three-year-old Gilly, a joyous little charmer who combined the best traits of both his parents: Ken's dark curls and eyes, and Rilla's chin and dented upper lip. Watching Rilla dote on him, Di was relieved to see that the sorrow that had shadowed her ever since little Aidan died was mostly gone—though there was a misery lurking in the back of those hazel eyes that made her think there was still some healing left to be done.

* * *

It was one sultry morning in late June when Persis burst in like a golden whirlwind, her eyes glowing like jewels.

Di was in the front hall giving instructions to Emma, the new housemaid, and looked at her excited friend with surprise and a bit of amusement.

"What is it, Persis?" she inquired calmly.

Persis tossed her hat into the air and caught it again. "I'm moving to France!"

Di just barely caught her jaw before it dropped all the way to the floor. "To _France_," she repeated, stunned. "Why?"

Persis laughed. "If you could only see your face right now," she mocked. "When Mother and Dad and I were over there last year, I met one of Dad's acquaintances, a Monsieur Séverin. He's an archeologist, just now becoming famous for his discovery of some ancient sites in Burgundy."

She paused and took a deep breath before continuing. In her wine-colored suit, her face alight with joy and life, she was so beautiful Di could hardly bear to look at her. "There's something about archeology that's always fascinated me—to look at a few pieces of broken pottery and learn something about an entire civilization—it's marvelous.

"I talked quite a bit with M. Séverin, and I must have impressed him with my interest and scanty knowledge, because he offered me a place on his staff if I cared to stay and work with him. At the time I just laughed it off, but now I'm going to take him up on the offer! What better way to learn how to build up a new world than by studying everything that's come before?"

By now Di had regained both her breath and her composure. "That's wonderful. What do your parents think?"

"They are pleased," Persis said. "Dad especially—he's known M. Séverin for years, and respects him enormously. He says it's a wonderful chance for me to learn from one of the most brilliant archeologists of the day."

"I'm thrilled you found something," Di said sincerely. "But—_France_! It's so far away. Will we ever see you again?"

"I hope so," Persis smiled. "I will come for visits, you know. Di," sobering. "There's something else I wanted to broach to you." She glanced at Emma, who had apparently forgotten the dust cloth in her hand and was watching them with eyes agog. "Could we go into your office?"

"Certainly," Di said, curious. She led the way into her private sanctum, closing the door firmly in Emma's disappointed face.

"What is it?"

Persis drew a deep breath. "I want to adopt Paulette and Pierre." She held up a hand, though Di hadn't said a word. "Hear me out before you say anything."

Di nodded slowly, trying to recover from this latest shock.

"I love those two dearly. Let me start with that. They are both children after my own heart. The one thing last week that held me back from writing to M. Séverin and accepting his offer was the thought of leaving them behind. Then it occurred to me—why not take them along?

"I'm well-off; even if the archeology doesn't pay, Dad's settled enough on me to keep me comfortable for the rest of my life. I'm responsible—I'll take good care of them. They'll be in school when I'm working, and once they're old enough I'll take them with me to digs. Just think of how much they'll learn! And they're French—well, French Canadian, at least—and so it'll be grand for them to live in the land of their forefathers."

She drew in a deep, deep breath. "Oh please, Di, please let me take them. I want this so much. I want children of my own, but I don't want to get married simply so I can have a family, and I don't want to be tied down to a husband's whims. But couldn't love any children, even my own, more than those two. Please, Di."

Di had obediently kept silent through Persis' impassioned speech, but she had been thinking hard. When Persis finally finished, her blue eyes fixed imploringly on Di, she simply smiled and said,

"All right."

Persis blinked. "What?"

Di laughed. "All right! You can adopt them. You made a convincing case, and I know you. You wouldn't do something like this unless you were serious. So yes, adopt them. I hope you'll all be very, very happy."

Persis squealed and danced around the tiny room. "May I tell them right now?"

Di smiled indulgently. "Go ahead."

Persis wrenched the door open and dashed off. Very shortly, Di heard more squeals from the playroom, and Tricia emerged, laughing.

"Did you really tell Persis she could adopt the twins?"

"I did," Di nodded.

Tricia shook her head in amusement. "Heaven help France if those three are let loose!"

* * *

**_Author's Note:_**_ Things are getting a bit more interesting for Di and Patrick! I'm out of town for the weekend, leave lots of reviews to brighten me up when I get back!_


	13. Chapter 13

The summer slipped by in a shower of golden days. Life around the Home was much quieter without Persis and the twins, but Di still managed to keep busy. July brought with it two items of happiness: another child was adopted, leaving them to become part of a family, and Rilla and Ken gave final proof that their relationship was wholly healed when Rilla announced she was expecting again!

The family was cautiously rejoicing; even though both Gilbert and Jem said there should be no complications with this pregnancy, the memory of little Aidan was still fresh in all their minds. Rilla and Ken were staying at the House of Dreams for the summer, and had decided to remain there until this baby was born, so as to be close to the Blythe doctors.

And in Avonlea, Patrick and Elizabeth's engagement was proceeding placidly. No hint of a wedding date had escaped them thus far; in fact, Di rather suspected they were more content to be engaged than they would be actually married!

Shirley was asking Di to come out for a visit, but she couldn't see her way to it, not with Persis gone. It had been one thing to visit the Glen when Rilla's life was endangered, but to simply run off from her duties there at the Home, leaving no one but Tricia to watch the children…it wouldn't be right.

And so the days passed calmly and placidly, with hardly a ripple to disturb them. With his two chief cohorts gone, Bran was spending more and more time at Di's side, "helping" her. Even though his assistance usually made more work for her, not less, she loved having him nearby, asking her questions and telling her jokes, always looking up at her for approval, his little monkey's face twisted up in an engaging grin as he would relate another one of his tales adapted from the _Mabinogion_. He was six now, and as bright and sharp as a new pin.

Di knew it was dreadful, but she prayed daily that no one would adopt Bran. As hard as it was for her to see any of her children leave, it would break her heart to have to let Bran go.

Patrick returned to Toronto in September, rested from his sojourn in Avonlea and planning on returning there permanently next year.

"After all," he told Di one afternoon over tea, "If I'm going to be living there once Elizabeth and I marry, it would be good to already be settled in and established."

"You humbug, Patrick," laughed Di. "You want to live in Avonlea because you hate the city, admit it!"

He grinned sheepishly. "True enough, though that doesn't make my other reasons less valid. Shirley has offered to sell me your father's old farm. The house has fallen into disrepair, but it's acceptable for an old bachelor like me, especially if I can fix it up enough for me to be comfortable now, and make improvements on it for after the wedding."

Di was surprised. She was aware that Grandfather Blythe had left the Blythe homestead to Shirley in his will, but the place had completely fallen to shambles by the time Shirley was grown up, and he had practically forgotten about it, even to the point of buying Green Gables from Uncle Davy when he decided to move to Avonlea, rather than go through all the bother of making Blythe Farm livable.

Still, that he would sell it to Patrick was a surprise. It was, after all, his inheritance, and Di had always assumed he would hold onto it until the twins had grown up and he could pass it along to one of them.

Patrick seemed to read her thoughts. "I asked him if he was sure, but he said he was. Green Gables will go to the twins, he said, and if one or both of them ever get married, he would settle enough money on them to be able to purchase a place of their own. It makes more sense, he said, to have someone living in your father's old place now than to continue to hold onto it until there was nothing that could possibly be done with it."

Di was pleased to think that Patrick would be so close to Shirley, with only the old Barry place between them. "You'll have to make friends with Jack Wright," she said. "He lives in the Barry's house. He'll make a good neighbor to you."

Patrick scrunched up his face. "Jack Wright…is he that dark, husky fellow with the gloomy face and taciturn personality?"

"That's the one."

"I'm not sure if he'll be the best neighbor," Patrick said wryly. "He already informed me that 'folks' in Avonlea don't like 'strangers' moving in and taking over."

Di rolled her eyes. "That's just Jack. He used to be more fun—not like Fred, who was always joking and teasing and willing to play with us children, but still nice. He was terribly wounded in the War, though, and ever since…" her voice trailed off.

Patrick's face relaxed. "Ah yes, the War," he said softly. "What a misery it's made of many a good man's life!" He smiled somewhat bitterly, rubbing his leg. "Don't worry, Di. I won't make things any harder for your friend. In fact, I'll do everything in my power to be a good neighbor, even if he doesn't feel the same toward me."

"I know," Di said softly. She actually thought Jack and Patrick would get along rather well; they had a great deal in common, even beyond both having been wounded in the War. Still, it was all dependent on whether or not Jack would let anyone in to be his friend.

Patrick stood up and stretched. "Well, friend o' mine, as much as I would love to stay here whiling away the rest of the afternoon, I do have responsibilities of my own. I'll just say hello to my little Polly and be on my way."

Di accompanied him to the playroom, where Polly's little face lit up as always at the sight of her favorite toy.

"Uncle Patwick!" she cried, her three-year-old lisp only adding charm to her soft voice. "Come see Bob," she continued, tugging his hand and pulling him over to where her soft grey kitty was curled up on a cushion, purring.

Di had tried to rule that Bob could only sleep in his box in the playroom, but after Polly had snuck downstairs night after night and dragged him up to bed to sleep with her, she finally relented, and no more rules were made about the cat.

He was now fat and spoiled and loved by all the children, and barely tolerated by Di. He seemed to know she disliked him, and flaunted his position every time she came near. In return, she ignored him as much as possible, swearing to herself that she would _never_ allow another cat in the Home!

Patrick played with Polly and Bob for a little while, and then Di walked him out. He breathed in the crisp air as he stood on the front step.

"I tell you the truth, Di, that little girl is the sweetest thing I've ever seen—but don't tell Shirley; he's convinced Meggie is the most darling wee girlie ever to be born. I can't believe she's not been adopted yet!"

"It's Peter," Di answered. "Most people who want a sweet little girl don't want to have to be bothered by her stiff, silent older brother as well. I promised I would never separate them, and I intend to keep that promise, even if it means turning away ever prospective parent for the next ten years!"

Patrick smiled approvingly. "I like Peter," he said. "He has a good heart under that stuffy exterior, and it's quite obvious that he'd do anything to his sister." He paused and looked thoughtful. "Perhaps when Elizabeth and I are married…" he began, then stopped. "After all, I can't exactly ask a new bride to take in two children right away, can I?" he finished somewhat obliquely.

"No, I suppose not," Di answered.

They bid each other farewell, and Patrick strode of down the street, whistling a mournful tune to himself.

A few days after Thanksgiving, Emma showed a young lady with a tired face into Di's office. Di looked up from her papers curiously.

The young woman was dressed in a simple but exquisitely made navy blue traveling dress; her hair, what little of it was peeking out beneath her cloche, was dark and silky. Her face, though tired, was sweet and distinctive, and her hazel green eyes had an odd, hungry look of…hope, Di decided, in them.

Overall, something in the lady's carriage and manner, even before she spoke, set her apart from the run of Toronto maidens. Di sensed one who was of the race of Joseph, and then the lady spoke.

"I beg your pardon for interrupting," she said, her voice carrying an odd twist. "I was rather hoping you might be able to help me."

"I certainly hope so," Di answered. "Won't you have a seat and tell me what this is about?"

The lady hesitated, and then sat. "Thank you. My name is Leah—Lady Leah Mercer, and I'm looking for my brother."

A _Lady_! Di recognized the twist to her voice now—it was an English accent. Still, what was an English aristocrat doing in her Home? "I'm afraid I don't quite understand," she said.

Lady Leah Mercer laughed wearily. "No, I don't suppose you would. I'm afraid, Miss Blythe, that it is a rather long and complicated tale. Have you the time to hear it, or should I return at a more convenient time?"

"Of course not," Di said at once. "I would be delighted to hear it. But first, may I offer you something to drink or eat? You look as though you've come a long way."

"A glass of water would be sufficient, thank you," she said, pulling off her gloves. "It has been a tiring week."

Emma brought in the water and left them alone. Di was burning with curiosity, but she waited until Lady Leah was ready before asking, "Now, you said you are looking for your brother?"

"Indeed," the young woman replied. "You see, my father was the Earl of Whitmore."

An _Earl's_ daughter! Di felt like she'd wandered into a Victorian novel somehow.

"I had two siblings, both older than myself," Lady Leah continued. "My brother, Reginald, joined the army as soon as war broke out, and my sister Dorothy worked as a V.A.D."

Her voice trembled a little, but she controlled herself and continued. "Dorothy contracted fever and died almost at once, and Reggie—Reginald was killed in action in 1917. My father was left with no heir, and as my fiancé had also been killed, it did not seem likely that I would be providing him with one at any time soon."

Di marveled at her composure as she quietly recited her tale of horrors, but couldn't help but wonder who exactly it was she was seeking, if her brother was already dead.

"I had also left them to work as a V.A.D. at this point, but a few months after Reggie's death, Mother wired me that she was expecting again. My brother, the Honorable Frederick Mercer, was born in February of 1918; my mother died giving him birth, and my father passed on as well a month later.

"Naturally, I returned at once, only to find that my brother had vanished. I learned that my father had sent him away with our old family nurse shortly before his death, but by the time I found where she had taken him, she was dead as well, and nobody knew where my brother had gone."

Lady Leah paused and took a sip of water, blinking her eyes a little. Di felt more and more that she was living in a romantic melodrama.

"Last year I finally discovered that there was a possibility Frederick had been sent to Canada; our nurse was Canadian by birth, and it seemed likely that she had sent him t her homeland when she realized she was dying. I arrived in your country last December, and have been searching every orphanage I could find ever since." She leaned forward in her chair. "Is there any possibility that my brother is or ever has been here? He would be eight by now."

Di spoke gently, fearful of raising hopes that might only end up dashed. "There is a possibility…" she wasn't exactly sure how one addressed an earl's daughter, and settled on 'my lady,' "My lady."

Lady Leah's eyes lit up with hope. "Do you mean it? Is he here?"

Di held up a cautionary hand. "We do have an eight-year-old boy here, named Freddy. He is from England originally, and came here shortly after the War ended, and that's all we know about him."

The lady was trembling. "It must be my brother…everything matches. Might I…might I see him?"

"My lady, it does seem likely that our Freddy is truly your brother, but I don't want to disappoint you if he isn't. are you sure you wish to see him now? Would you rather wait until you are more rested, better prepared for the possibility it's not him?"

Lady Leah stood up. Although she was not very tall, she gave an excellent impression of an imposing woman. "Miss Blythe, I have been searching Canada for eleven months for my brother, throughout the British Isles for seven years before that. In that time I have had my hopes raised and dashed more times than you can imagine. Believe me, I am fully prepared."

Feeling properly put in her place, Di also rose. "Very well, then, I will bring him in. If you'd care to wait in here?"

Lady Leah nodded, and Di slipped out to find Freddy. She hoped, for both his sake and Lady Leah's, that he was indeed the missing brother, but she had a difficult time imagining their Freddy as the son of an Earl—or, if Lady Leah's father was dead now, she supposed he would be the earl himself.

She found Freddy drawing in the playroom, and asked him to accompany her to her office. She deliberately did not give any details, preferring rather to wait until Lady Leah saw him to explain the situation.

He looked puzzled, but followed her willingly enough. Di led him into the office and stood behind him, her hands on his shoulders, presenting him silently to Lady Leah.

The Earl's daughter looked at him for one full minute in silence, her lips trembling. Then:

"He is the image of our mother and Dorothy," she said softly. "There can be no question. This is my brother."

Fully puzzled now, Freddy looked from her to Di inquiringly. Di smiled at him. "Freddy, dear, this lady is your older sister."

"I don't have a sister," he said promptly. "I'm an orphan."

"Yes you are," Lady Leah said softly. "But even though you have no parents does not mean you have no family at all. I am your sister, and I've come to take you home."

"I'll leave the two of you alone together," Di interjected hastily, as Freddy's eyes grew wide, and slipped out, marveling as she did so.

Their little Freddy! An English Earl! She never would have guessed at such a happy ending for _his_ story.

_**Author's Note:** The document editor is not working particularly well, forcing me to underline the last sentence before the breaks rather than use the usual handy-dandy little line. Oh well. Enter English aristocracy! What do you think? Let me know, whether it's good or bad!_  



	14. Chapter 14

_Dear Di,_

_Lady Leah and young Freddy and Peter have been here for three days now, and I thought it was about time to give you an update._

_Aunt Diana was thrilled to see them; she took them right into her home and heart. She was all flustered before they arrived, wondering if Lone Willow Farm was elegant enough for an Earl's daughter, and worrying about her speech, but once I drove up with the trio, all she saw was a young woman with weary eyes and two confused and tired little boys, and she started "mothering" them at once._

_All the old hens here in Avonlea have been by to see them, of course—they're all clucking and cooing over having aristocracy here. Why are people such snobs? Lady Leah is a perfectly nice woman who has had a horrible time of it these past few years, and just needs peace and quiet, but they all act as though the Queen herself had come to stay. Josie Pye (I know she's really Mrs. Sam Sloane, but I can think of her as nothing but a Pye) nearly drooled all over Lady Leah's lap, she was so busy fawning over her. It was quite sickening._

_Aside from that, though—and Aunt Diana and Young Fred's wife Jessie are doing their best to keep the visitors down to a minimum—they seem to be doing well. As soon as I met them at the train station, a little sigh escaped Lady Leah, and the agonizing weariness in her eyes started to dissipate._

_"I can see why your sister spoke of this place so warmly," she murmured. "It's simply delightful. I feel almost as though I've come home."_

_Freddy hasn't said much at all; I think he's still coming to terms with the fact he _has_ a sister at all, never mind that he is an Earl—something that seems to escape the old biddies as well. In all their fussing over Lady Leah, they forget that her quiet younger brother is the Earl of Whitmore._

_(I suppose I ought to call him Lord Freddy, but honestly, the child is eight years old!)_

_He and Peter—and it was a brainstroke of yours, Di, to send Peter along with him—have spent most of their time exploring the woods around Lone Willow Farm and Green Gables. Peter attached himself to my Meggie the moment he laid eyes on her. Not that I'm surprised by that—who could see my baby girl without falling in love with her? It does surprise me a little how well she responded to him, though. She's rather choosy with her affections, even at her young age, limiting them mostly to Matty and me—even Mother hasn't ever made much headway with her. Still, for whatever reason, as soon as she saw Peter, that great big smile of hers spread across her face, and she even let him pick her up. Now, whenever Freddy and Lady Leah are together, Peter is over here playing with Meggie. _

_In other news, Jack is back in Avonlea. He'd left for a little while to stay with Anne Cordelia on the mainland, but he wasn't any happier there then he's been here, so he came back. I worry about him sometimes, Di, he's so angry. I understand some of that—after all, I was in the War, too—but he's let it eat away at him until he's nearly destroyed. I know Aunt Diana and Uncle Fred worry about him too, and Young Fred can't even go near his brother, he's so guilt-ridden._

_"If only I'd gone instead of Jack," he said to me once, watching Jack limp away toward Orchard Slope. _

_It's a mess, but I hope and trust God will work in his life._

_As for the rest of us, we're doing well, and I think Lady Leah and Freddy—I beg his pardon, _Lord_ Freddy—are starting to heal. I'll keep you updated._

_Love always,_

_Shirley._

Di smiled as she folded up the letter. She'd had the idea of sending the newly reunited brother and sister to Avonlea after watching them awkwardly trying to get to know each other in the uncomfortable sitting room in the Home, with other children popping in and out, and Emma listening with her ear pressed to the keyhole.

Lady Leah had confessed that she didn't want to wrench Freddy away from his friends and everything he really knew until he was more comfortable with her, but she didn't know how to go about making that happen.

At first, Di had thought about sending them to the Glen to stay with Mother and Dad and Jem and Faith at Ingleside, but then she decided that having so many people around might be just as awkward and overwhelming as staying in Toronto.

Green Gables had been her next thought, but as Lady Leah was a single woman and Shirley a widower, that left them both open to all the censorious gossip Avonlea could muster.

One letter to Aunt Diana and Uncle Fred soon settled things. They would be more than happy to take in the two for as long as was needed.

The day before the two set off, Freddy came in to see her, misery written all over his face.

"Mother Di, do I really have to go?"

Di was caught off guard. "Whatever do you mean, Freddy?" she asked.

He shrugged, his delicate features looking pinched and white. "I just—I don't know anybody, and it's so far away…couldn't you come with us?"

"Freddy, the whole point of this is so that you can get to know your sister. If I'm there, how will you get to know her?"

He was too proud to admit he was scared, so he just stood there quietly, his soft dark eyes fixed on her in mute pleading.

Di thought quickly. "How about this. Why don't you see if Peter wants to go with you? That way you'll have a friend nearby, but you'll still have time to spend with your sister, just the two of you."

He looked relieved. "Oh yes, thank you!"

Lady Leah hadn't minded at all a third member of the party, and Peter's desire to spend a little bit more time with his only friend before Freddy was gone forever overcame his reluctance to leave Polly.

So the three of them had set off, and it seemed Avonlea was suiting them all, even if the "hens," as Shirley called them, were annoying.

_My dear Miss Blythe,_

_I do so want to express my very deep appreciation for your kindness in arranging this trip for Freddy and myself. I shall be eternally grateful to you._

_Everyone has been so charming toward us. Mrs. Wright—both Mrs. Wrights, actually—have seen to our every need, even before we have a chance to express them. Your brother, Mr. Blythe, was extremely punctilious in fetching us from the station, and has been over nearly every day to ask if there is anything we need. Many of the Avonlea housewives also have visited and told us how delightful it is to have us here. It has been rather a long time since I have met with such kindness and graciousness; I confess it is slightly overwhelming at times._

_Freddy and I take long walks together and talk. I've told him all about the estate and our home in town—London, that is. He is surely our mother's son; every day I'm reminded more and more of her. we is still rather shy around me, but I do believe he is starting to open up._

_Peter had been the ideal companion for Freddy—quiet, always willing to listen, and able to take his mind off all the overwhelming changes in his life. I do hope you will allow him to visit us once in a while after we return to England—I will take care of the expenses, naturally._

_I shan't embarrass you by gushing, but I did want to thank you most sincerely, from the bottom of my heart, for arranging this. I feel quite sure that Freddy will adjust to his new life as Earl much easier once we do return, thanks to this retreat. I hope and trust all is well with you at the Shirley-Stedman Home._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Lady Leah Mercer._

Leah put her pen down and smiled. She thought she had been able to convey her thoughts rather well in that letter, without being too effusive. Born and bred to self-control, with the years of war and loss only strengthening her steely calm, she had a difficult time expressing her emotions at all.

Cupping her small chin in one dainty hand, she gazed out the window of her small bedroom and watched Freddy playing with the Wright children, Little Diana and Martin. She wondered briefly where Peter was before realizing that of course, he would be at Green Gables. Leah had rarely seen a young boy so attached to anyone as Peter was to Meggie Blythe.

A knock at the door preceded the entry of Jessie Wright, a cheerful, bustling woman with rosy cheeks and laugh lines surrounding her warm brown eyes.

"Am I disturbing you, your ladyship?" she asked peeking over the pile of fresh laundry in her arms.

"Not at all," Leah returned quietly. "I was merely finishing a letter.

"I'll have Martin run it out to the post for you, if you'd like," Mrs. Wright offered.

"That's very kind of you," Leah said, handing the letter over.

Mrs. Wright deposited the laundry and took the letter, tucking it into her apron pocket. "If you need anything else, Lady Leah, just let me know. I'll be downstairs baking."

"Might I help?" Leah asked impulsively. She had vague memories of helping the family cook in the kitchens of Whitmore, and remembered finding it both unusual and enjoyable, as well as comforting.

Mrs. Wright looked surprised, then doubtful. "Well, I don't know, I'm sure. I wouldn't want your ladyship to get mussed in any way."

Leah laughed. "Please, Mrs. Wright. I would so enjoy it."

"Very well, then," the other woman finally gave in.

As they went down the stairs, Leah surprised both of them by asking,

"Mrs. Wright, do you think you might dispense with my title during my stay here? It's simply so formal, and I feel it rather separates me from everyone else. My friends call me Leah, and I do wish I could consider you a friend."

A broad smile spread over Mrs. Wright's face. "Sure you can, honey, but only on one condition."

"And that is?"

"You must call me Jessie."

"Very well—Jessie."

The two women smiled at each other and entered the kitchen feeling that a true bond had been formed.

Jack Wright limped his way toward Lone Willow Farm angrily. For most people, the walk from Orchard Slope, the old Barry homestead, to Lone Willow Farm was nothing. For him, it was a major undertaking. He wouldn't be making it at all had his mother not called him up on the phone and begged him to come to dinner.

"We have guests staying with us—friends of Di Blythe's," she'd said. "I want you to meet them. Shirley's coming, and it will be such a nice family gathering."

He'd tried to get out of it, but she'd been unusually insistent, so he gave in, though ungraciously, and here he was. He knew Fred would have come fetched him in the car, but Jack hated any reminder that he wasn't as able as he used to be.

His mood grew blacker and blacker as he walked, reflecting the ugliness of the bleak November landscape around him, until he entered the kitchen at Lone Willow Farm in a positively foul mood.

He stopped short. His sister-in-law Jessie was finishing up the afternoon's baking, as usual, but there was another person in the room with her, someone Jack had never seen before.

She was an inch or two taller than Jessie, but still fell far short of Jack's burly six feet, with a lithe figure visible even through one of Jessie's voluminous gingham aprons. Her silky, perfectly straight hair—of a brown so deep it was almost black—was cut close to her well-shaped head, showing small ears and a delicate yet strong jawline.

Her features, smudged with flour and chocolate, could not be called beautiful, but they were even and regular, and she carried herself with distinction.

It was her eyes, though, that caught and held the stunned Jack. Almond shaped, clear greenish-brown, they held in the back of them sorrow and sadness that leaped out and spoke to the agony in his own heart.

He stood there silently for a few moments, dazed, before Jessie noticed him.

"Jack!" she exclaimed. "Goodness, you're here early. We weren't expecting you for another half hour at least."

Normally Jack would have made some sort of bitter comment about his injuries, but for now, he was still captured by this other woman, who had flushed upon seeing a stranger, but otherwise kept her composure.

Jessie noticed the direction of Jack's gaze. "Jack, this is Lady Leah Mercer, an acquaintance of Di's. She and her brother, Lord Freddy, are staying with us for a little while. Leah, this is my brother Jack Wright, who lives just beyond Green Gables."

The Lady held out her hand, ignoring her apron and general disheveled appearance. "I'm very pleased to meet you, Mr. Wright."

He shook her hand gently, marveling at how small and fragile it felt in his strong grip. "The pleasure's mine, Lady Leah."

Jessie's mouth opened slightly in shock, having never heard Jack speak so gently to anyone, but the other two didn't even notice her.

There was no telling what might have happened had not Diana, Martin, and Freddy burst in at that moment, all hungry and demanding cookies.

Jack wrenched his gaze away from Leah to greet his niece and nephew, and Leah as swiftly turned to her brother to tend his needs.

They didn't speak directly to each other for the rest of the evening, but Jack's gaze lingered longest on Leah as he said goodbye to everyone that night, and Leah herself went swiftly upstairs to her room once all the guests were gone.

Nobody made any comment, but Jessie's eyes met those of her mother-in-law's, Diana Wright, and the two speculated silently.

_**Author's Note:**_ _During my "no-internet-because-we-moved" break, I was able to get this chapter and two more written. I'll post them as quickly as I can, but I still have unpacking and organizing to do, so sadly I can't spend all my time playing. :( I will, however, do the best I can. As always, please review and let me know what you think!_  



	15. Chapter 15

Di was pleased and surprised to hear that Lady Leah and Freddy had decided to spend Christmas and New Years in Avonlea. Originally they had just been planning on staying a few weeks and then leaving for England, but according to the letters she received from both Shirley and Lady Leah, they were having such a marvelous time that they really couldn't bear to leave so soon.

Peter, however, came back to the Home in time for Christmas. As much as _he_ enjoyed Avonlea, he couldn't stand to be away from Polly during the holiday season.

Di had thought of going to Avonlea herself for the holidays, but two days before Christmas there was a tenement fire in one of the poorer parts of Toronto, which left three children with no family or friends to take them in. As always, the Shirley-Stedman Home opened its doors, and Danny, Bobby (short for Roberta), and Becky were made a part of the mishmash family at the Home in time for Christmas.

From what Shirley's letter told her, however, the holidays were quite enjoyable for all concerned, and even jack was coming slightly out of his taciturn shell—around Lady Leah, at least. Di wondered at that—an Earl's daughter and Canadian farmer didn't seem a likely match—but not being blessed or cursed, however one viewed it, with the matchmaking streak that ran through her family, she let it go, having more than enough to worry about on her own.

Patrick had returned to Avonlea for his school break, and reportedly had a "lovely" time with the Craigs. He and Elizabeth still hadn't set a date, but they were starting to talk more seriously about the wedding.

Di had a half-formed hope in the back of her mind that nothing would come of it all in the end, but she didn't really think that likely. Even if Patrick changed his mind, he was an honorable man, and would never go back on his word to anyone, no matter how much pain it caused him. No, the only hope there was Elizabeth … and she was reportedly so thrilled to finally be engaged that she didn't seem liable to call anything off.

It was all quite tangled, and Di was happy enough to simply have orphans and adoptions to deal with—they were nowhere near as complicated.

Leah gazed outside at the frosty ground and iron sky. It was a most unprepossessing day, but she still had a yearning to go out in it. All day she had felt trapped, confined, and if she didn't get outside, she was afraid she would burst.

So, with a quick check on Freddy—busily drawing a portrait of Little Diana, while Martin and Peter watched, the former with awe and the latter with amused tolerance—she snatched up her coat, hat, gloves, and scarf.

"Jessie, I'm out for a walk," she called into the kitchen.

The rosy matron came out of her domain, her warm eyes astonished. "In weather like this? You'll catch your death!"

Leah smiled demurely. "Not at all. My sister and I used to go on long 'cross-country tramps at Whitmore. We'd come home half-frozen and exhausted, and Mother would simply scold us and make us drink hot tea, and we'd be fine. I have a very strong constitution."

"Well, I'll be sure to have tea ready for you when you get back," Jessie capitulated with a smile.

Looking like a sleek swallow in her grey outerwear, Leah cut across the fields, rejoicing in the very grimness of the weather. Although her time in Avonlea had warmed her soul and thawed out her heart considerably, she had lived with fear and loneliness for so long that there were still times she needed to get away and be still.

She would never forget what it'd been like, those long years of war. First when Doro had died—of a fever, no less. Somehow, that had just seemed like such a cruel irony: working as a nurse in war, only to succumb to something as mundane as a fever. And for it to be Doro, the strong one, the one who seemingly was never ill a day in her life, just added salt to the wound.

Then Leah's own fiancé, the Honorable Charles Meriet, was killed in action. Leah had mourned long and bitterly for her Charles, but now, to her faint surprise, she could barely remember his face. He hadn't been handsome, she recalled, but their had been a pleasant inanity to his features and manners that always cheered her up, no matter how gloomy she got. They were engaged when they were both only eighteen—over ten years ago, now.

And then Reggie—darling, darling Reggie. The heir to Whitmore and pride of the Mercers. He was killed only a month or so after Charles, and the double blow nearly killed Leah, as well. Only her V.A.D. work—for she had followed in Doro's footsteps there, as she had in nearly everything, both their lives—kept her going, knowing that she was maybe helping some other girls to not experience her agony.

Still, by the time her parents died and Freddy disappeared—disappeared without her ever having seen him—she was so numbed that the additional blows barely even touched her. Had she not needed to search her brother out, she might have just curled up into a ball at the old family estate and withered away.

Now Freddy was found, and life was starting to touch Leah again. She could feel happiness, smile, even laugh, though the light-heartedness of her girlhood was gone forever.

She could not help but wonder, though, what life held in store for her now. She would go back to England with Freddy, of course, and manage the estate until he was twenty-one, but was she only to be a steward forevermore? And what of her life after Freddy came of age?

For a time, she could only think of surviving. Now she began to think of _living_, and was surprised to find herself somewhat intimidated by the possibilities.

In this new and pensive mood, she paused by an old split-rail fence and leaned on it, looking at the fantastic shapes the clouds made overhead, and shuddering a little at that one lurid orange streak that was all that was visible of a January sunset.

Lost in her thoughts, she was surprised to hear a gruff voice utter behind her: "Er … good day, Lady Leah."

True to her breeding, Leah showed no hint of discomfiture as she turned and said calmly, "Good evening, I should rather say, Mr. Wright."

Jack Wright, clad in a threadbare dark wool coat, bare-headed against the biting wind, actually felt the color rise in his cheeks. "Good evening, of course."

They were silent for a few moments, and then Leah felt it incumbent on her to say something to break the strain. "It's a rather beastly evening, isn't it?"

"Yes, it is," he agreed. "I'm … er … a bit surprised to see you out."

"I enjoy a good walk when I can get one," she said, "No matter what the weather is like. Besides, I'm feeling a trifle low in my mind, and I find the weather suits me more like this."

His dark eyes were regarding her with a hint of respect and understanding. "I know what you mean," he said abruptly. "I prefer days like this to the bright, sunny ones … they hurt too much."

Sympathy dawned in Leah upon hearing those words. She had suspected that this man knew something of grief, loss, and suffering, but now she was sure of it. She would never insult him by asking about it, though. Let him choose to speak or be silent; she would not force a confidence.

"Still," she said carelessly, "I suppose I should be getting back, else Jessie will be fretting."

Jack's brooding face broke into a slow smile—somewhat rusty, but unexpectedly sweet. "She _is_ a mother hen, isn't she?"

"A bit, but she's a dear," Leah said warmly. "I think she's delightful."

"Let me walk you back," he said, limping along next to her. "If you can stand being seen with an old cripple like me."

"That's very kind of you, Mr. Wright," Leah said, hiding her irritation at his self-pitying speech. If one had to suffer, it was her opinion, one should do it in stoical silence, not by continually reminding others of how much pain one was in. "Though I wouldn't want to cause you to go to any trouble," her voice a bit cooler.

He had the grace to look ashamed of himself. "Forgive me, your ladyship … I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"Oh, I'm not in the slightest uncomfortable," Leah said with perfect truthfulness. "I simply do not care to make a fuss over trifles."

Jack stopped dead, his face suddenly infused with livid anger. "Trifles? You think this is a trifle?"

"You have a lame leg," Leah said frostily. She wondered how they had gone so quickly from amicable companionship to this battle, but she was not about to back down. "Many died, or lost entire limbs, or came back paralyzed. You have much for which you should be thankful."

Jack unknowingly clenched his fists, his face dark red, his voice thick and low. "Thankful! I wish I _had_ died! Anything would be better than living with this pain every day … my leg isn't the only place I was wounded, your ladyship." He made the title sound like an insult. "A shell exploded next to me … killed the fellows on either side, and left me, by some cruel twist of fate, alive but wounded. I wake up in pain every morning … but even that isn't the worst part." He paused for a moment, breathing heavily as he tried to tamp down his anger somewhat.

"Then what, pray tell, is?" Leah inquired tartly. "I lost my parents, brother, sister, and fiancé to the War … tell me how much worse off you are."

That stopped him short. "You did?"

She hadn't actually meant to tell him that, but she nodded. "I did."

"I'm sorry … I didn't know." The red slowly died out of his face, leaving him awkward and guilty. "I know many people suffered," he said slowly, trying to make her understand. "And I'm not saying that I came out worse than any other … and, as you said, better than many. But … the things I saw, the things I did, the atrocities …" his voice trailed off. He shook his head. "I can't explain it. But my anger is not so much at the physical results as the other: spiritual, Reverend Craig would say. I don't know if I even believe in a spiritual place anymore. All I ever wanted was peace. Just wanted to live my life quietly, beholden to no man, owing nothing, free to come and go as I pleased.

"But then I went over there, and what I did … now it's as if I owe a huge dept to humanity for my actions … and what I was unable to prevent … and fate has maimed me so that I cannot ever pay it off."

He closed his mouth abruptly. Without looking at Leah, he asked softly. "Is it any wonder I am bitter?"

Leah relented, knowing she could be too harsh at times. "Forgive me," she said quietly. "I judged you too hastily. I deemed you self-pitying and maudlin, and I had no business speaking the way I did. I am thoroughly ashamed of myself."

"No, you were right," Jack said, moving forward and catching her hands in his without even realizing it. "I am weak. I should be able to rise above this … or at least not inflict it on other people. _I_ am the one who needs forgiving."

Leah smiled wryly. "Shall we take it, then, that we both have acted poorly, and move on?"

He squeezed her hands once before seeming to notice that he held them. He dropped them instantly. "I'm willing if you are."

"Very well, then." Leah looked off toward Lone Willow Farm, glowing warmly in the near vicinity. "Would you care to come along for supper? I know everyone would be pleased to have you … Jessie always makes more than enough."

Jack smiled again; this time it was less rusty, as though it just needed a bit of exercise to be fully sweet and warm. "You know, I think that would be fine.

They walked along together, and for once Jack hardly noticed the pain of his wounded body.


	16. Chapter 16

March rolled in like a very wet and grumbly lion. The snow mostly ceased, although what little there was of it was dingy and dirty, and rain came down nearly every day, usually accompanied by biting winds and dark clouds, which occasionally showered them with hail.

The children, or so Peter reported to Di, with a little quirk in the corner of his mouth, practically swam to school and back each day.

Meanwhile, a certain Blair Giraud had arrived in Toronto, seemingly bent on sweeping Tricia off her feet. Di knew they had been communicating through letters ever since their cousin's wedding, but this was the first time he had paid her a visit.

Tricia introduced him to Di the very first night he stopped by the Home. He stood in the front hall, twirling his hat, smiling a little to himself at the picture Tricia presented as she went off for Di, carrying a sleepy little child in her arms.

Di liked him at first sight—despite the fact that she was quite sure he was going to deprive her of her best and only helper. In appearance, he reminded her just slightly of Kenneth, being dark and velvety, but he had a personality and charm all his own.

"I am so pleased to meet you, Miss Blythe," he said in his delightful voice. "Tricia has told me so much about all the wonderful work you are doing here. I must say I am quite impressed."

"Thank you, but I can't take all the credit," laughed Di. "Tricia has been an enormous help to me these last few years."

"That I can well believe," Blair said, smiling at the blushing Tricia.

They chatted for a few more minutes, mostly about mutual acquaintances from the Island, and then Blair escorted Tricia out for dinner and the theatre, with strict injunctions from Di to bring her back at a reasonable hour.

That was just the beginning, and for the next fortnight, Blair took Tricia out nearly every night, and the few night they stayed in, he endeared himself to all the Home's inhabitants by playing gleefully with the children and telling them all the most marvelous stories before bed.

It was therefore no surprise to Di when Tricia came in beaming and blushing the day after Blair went back to Montreal, and shyly showed Di the stunning diamond on her left hand.

Di hugged her warmly. "I'm so happy for you, dearest."

"Oh Di," she whispered, her face full of awe. "I never dreamed I could be this happy. Oh, but Di, I'm so worried about the Home! We'll live in Montreal, of course, and spend part of our summers on the Island, but I do so hate to leave you and the children."

"Don't be ridiculous," Di said firmly. "We'll be just fine. No one could ever replace you, but I can hire another helper, and we'll get by. Don't worry about us! When is the wedding to be?"

"June," she answered, smiling blissfully. "Blair wanted it to be sooner, but Uncle Richard wouldn't hear of it—and I can't bear to leave you all too soon. Uncle Richard is planning a big society wedding," making a face, "but I want you to be my maid of honor. Will you?"

Di thought rapidly. She swore after Rilla's wedding never to be a bridesmaid again, lest she fall prey to the "three times a bridesmaid" curse, but that was silly superstition, and besides, it didn't seem too likely she would be getting married now anyway! So she smiled and said "Yes," quite easily.

Tricia clasped her hands together. "Oh good! Alan is to be best man, of course, and Blair's sisters Felicity, Olivia, and Alice will be bridesmaids, and his brother Jasper and cousins Steve and Alex groomsmen …" she chattered on, but a thought suddenly pierced Di.

Blair was cousins with the Craigs, which meant that Elizabeth would be at the wedding, quite possibly with Patrick. Thus far, Di had managed to avoid seeing them together, but there would be no escaping it now.

She shrugged mentally. There was no point in fussing over it, she told herself philosophically. As Mrs. Rachel Lynde was always fond of saying, what is to be will be, that's what.

Rilla was due near the end of March, and Di fully expected that and Tricia's engagement to be the only exciting events of the month. Between the two, however, came a romantic little story that pleased and surprised not only her, but also everyone else around. Anne Blythe, when she heard about, sighed a little and said even she couldn't have imagined anything so lovely.

It was a cold, windy day around the middle of the month. Di had a cold in her head, the children were quarrelsome and whiny, and the weather seemed to penetrate even Tricia's dreamy state.

Di had just settled an argument between Elisabetta and Bobby, and told Bran for the fourth time to finish his homework, when Emma approached her.

"There's a lady here to see you, ma'am," she said importantly.

By now, Di was quite familiar with Emma's manner of introducing people. She refused to take names, but classified them into three categories, based on appearance and manners: "Lady" or "gentleman;" "person;" and "someone."

This, then, was a woman of some breeding. Di cast one sharp glance over the two little girls, now working peaceably at the same table, and rose to her feet.

"Very well Emma, show her into my office; I'll join her momentarily."

"Yes ma'am. Shall I have Mrs. Goccia make some tea?"

"Yes, thank you."

Di wasn't quite sure what she was expecting—another Lady Leah, perhaps, or even a surprise visit from Persis—but when she entered the office and greeted the woman awaiting her, she was slightly taken aback.

She was tall and stately, with iron-grey hair and shrewd grey eyes set deep in a clear-cut face, with strong features and a shrewd smile. She was dressed simply but carefully in a navy wool suit, and the appraising look in her eyes as she looked at Di made that woman feel like a little schoolgirl again.

"Miss Blythe?" she asked, in a strong but pleasant voice.

"Yes," Di answered, trying to recover her scattered nerves. "And you are …?"

"Rebecca Waite," she said.

Di blinked a little. Waite was Olivia's last name … but surely that little girl had no relations left who were willing to take her? "What may I do for you, Miss Waite?" she asked, shaking away any profitless speculation. Miss Waite's business would be best found out by that lady relating it, not by her, Di, trying to guess.

"Miss Blythe, I believe you have my little great-niece, Olivia Waite, in your care. Is that correct?"

"I do have an Olivia Waite in my care," Di answered cautiously. "But I understood her family had resigned all claim to her."

Miss Waite snorted, surprising Di. "They would," she said cryptically. "Miss Blythe, may I tell you something of Olivia's family?"

Di seated herself behind the desk. "I would be pleased to learn more about them," she said frankly. "I've always wondered about Olivia's family."

"Olivia's father was my favorite nephew. I never got along well with my sister—a hard, selfish woman if there ever was one, my sister though she may be. Her other two children were just like her, but Danny—Olivia's father—was quite different.

"I didn't much care for his choice of wife—a silly, flighty little thing, who didn't have enough sense not to burn water. Still, Danny loved her, so I was willing to accept her for his sake. She lived only a year—long enough to go through all his money and give birth to a little girl—and then died, and he was better off without her.

"He was desperately poor at this point; I offered for him to come live with me, but he was too proud. He didn't want his mother or siblings to know in what dire straits he was. He died a year later, worn out from overwork and disappointment.

"I was out of the country when this happened, visiting friends in California, and by the time I returned, my sister had already claimed guardianship of Olivia. I tried to take her, but the courts sided with her grandmother, and though my sister had no affection for the child, she refused to give up anything she thought belonged to her by rights."

"And after she died …?" prompted Di.

The proud face broke into a grim smile. "I was once again in California … it seems to be my curse to always be out of reach when Olivia needs me. I came home as soon as I could, but there were many delays, and I made it back only two months ago. Then I had to wrench the information as to where she was out of my niece, and here I am, ready to finally take her in and raise her as my own."

Di drew in a long breath. "Oh, I'm _so_ glad," she murmured thankfully. She met the old lady's puzzled glance with a smile. "I've prayed and prayed that Olivia would find someone who loved and accepted her. Would you mind waiting here while I bring her to you?"

"Miss Blythe, I assure you that I will not leave until my great-niece is safely in my possession."

Di left the room with a springing step. Olivia was sitting in the darkest corner of the playroom, staring at nothing and scowling.

"Olivia," Di said gently, bending down and touching her shoulder. "There's someone here to see you."

"To see me?" the little girl asked, looking up in astonishment. She smiled bitterly. "I think you've made a mistake. Nobody ever wants to see me."

Di shook her head, but forbore to answer verbally. Better to let Miss Waite tell it herself. "Come, dear," she said.

Olivia rose to her feet ungraciously and followed Di to the office, still smiling scornfully. Di opened the door and ushered her inside, where Miss Waite rose calmly to her feet.

"Olivia," Di said, "This is your great-aunt, Miss Rebecca Waite. She wants you to come live with her."

The look on Olivia's face was heartbreaking—the look of someone afraid to let herself hope or believe. "Me?"

Miss Waite took one step toward her. "Yes, dear," she said quite gently. "I am your Aunt Rebecca, and I would very much like for you to come live with me. I have a little bungalow in California, and I think we would get on well together."

Olivia's eyes opened even wider. "Me?" she whispered again. "You want me?" And tears started to well up in those dark grey eyes—the same color and shape as her great-aunt's.

Di turned and left them alone together, closing the door very gently behind her.

A few weeks later, a very different Olivia sailed away with her great-aunt to sunny California—an Olivia who was all smiles and joy. Knowing that there was one person in the world, just one, who loved her and wanted her, changed everything.

She waved happily at all the other orphans as her Aunt Rebecca took her away from the Home, and even blew a kiss to Di and Tricia. The two women sighed almost in unison as she disappeared from view.

"I love a happy ending," Tricia said romantically.

"An ending for us, but a very happy beginning for them," Di replied sententiously.

Coming after this, the successful birth of Rilla's baby might have seemed an anticlimax—had it not been _two_ babies!

The phone rang shrilly just before midnight on March 31. Di had been expecting a call for the past few days, but her heart still beat a little faster as she raced to answer it. Had everything gone all right?

"Hello—hello!" she gasped into the machine.

"Hello, Auntie Di!" said a merry voice—Kenneth's, sounding as it had not done in months.

"Ken!" she cried, her heartbeat slowing back down to normal. "How is everything--everyone?"

"Perfect," he replied joyfully. "Not a single problem this time."

"Oh, thank goodness," she sighed, before turning to more important matters. "And is it a boy or a girl?"

"Girl," Kenneth answered, but even over the static of long distance Di could make out the note of mischief.

"What are you not telling me, Ken?"

"What?" he asked innocently. "Just that Shirley can no longer boast."

Di was completely at sea. "Shirley? Boast?"

"He no longer has the only set of twins—Rilla gave birth to two beautiful little girls! We thought they were going to be April Fool's babies, but they fooled us!" laughing as at some great witticism.

"Twins! Oh Ken, that's wonderful! What are their names?"

"Leslie Alice and Anne Marilla—our own little Ally and Anna. Rilla is going to write to you with all the details, but the expense of this phone call is already ridiculous, and I have so many other people to call, so I'll have to let you go. Bye-bye!"

He hung up, leaving a very dazed Di clutching the telephone as though for dear life.

"Twins," she whispered. With a wry smile, she wondered if they would live up to their namesakes—if so, they would certainly keep their parents busy!

The Blythe family had grown yet again, and even though Di was thrilled, for the first time she wondered wistfully what it would be like to bring her own children into the world.

_**Author's Note: **The last part of this chapter was for all those who pleaded for Rilla and Ken to find happiness again. Hope this makes up for some of what I put them through!_


	17. Chapter 17

The Home was literally a-buzz with excitement as the date of Tricia and Blair's wedding drew near. The children, though sad they were going to lose their "Aunt Tricia," were nearly out of their skin with excitement over the wedding itself. Little Polly, at three the youngest child in the Home, was entrusted with the role of flower girl, while the other children, though not a part of the wedding party, were to be given seats in the front of the church where they could see everything—and where Di could keep an eye on them!

Di herself couldn't help but get caught up in the excitement around her, and even the sadness of losing her partner—for so Tricia had truly become—was tempered by a letter from Avonlea.

Leah and Freddy were still there, although Leah was starting to feel that the time was approaching for them to move on. She and Di had begun an odd friendship, sustained solely through letters, but one that pleased and satisfied both of them. Di appreciated Leah's clear mind and incisive wit, and Leah enjoyed Di's wholesome outlook on life and practical way of thinking. After hearing the news of Tricia's engagement, this was the letter she wrote:

_My dear Di,_

_I find myself somewhat nervous as I write this, an unfamiliar emotion. Let me assure you that your answer to what I am about to suggest will in no way affect our friendship, whether it be yes or no. I respect you immensely, and that will not change, no matter what you say to my proposal._

_Now I have probably terribly worried you. Let me come to the point. You say that Miss Woods' marriage will leave you without a helper at the Home, and you are concerned about how you will manage without her. Will I do as an acceptable substitute?_

_Are you shocked yet? I certainly hope I've managed to surprise you a little. I really cannot take advantage of the Wrights' hospitality any longer, but I am rather reluctant to return to England as yet. You may be wondering why, but let me simply say that there is much in Canada to keep me here at present. My family's old steward is managing our affairs quite competently, and there is nothing to prevent me from staying aside from a desire not to be an imposition to anyone._

_I know that Freddy misses Peter, and though I've not broached the idea to him yet, I am quite sure he would not object to returning to the Home for a little while. We will not be able to stay indefinitely, but I can give you some time, at least. Shall we say six months to a year? That will give Freddy a bit more time to be a carefree child before he has to take up his responsibilities as Earl, and me time to fully recover from the traumas of the past few years._

_Think about it, and let me know your decision. I may not have the skill with children Miss Woods had, but I certainly can handle any administrative needs, and though I am not warm and emotional, I am rarely cross or out of sorts. Surely that must count for something._

_Your brother sends his greetings, as do the Wrights. I remain respectfully yours,_

_Leah Mercer._

To say that she was shocked would have been an understatement, but Di adjusted her thinking, and soon sent off a letter agreeing to Leah's proposal. She was still sad to see Tricia go on the girl's own account, but she was no longer worried about what she would do without her.

"I'm so relieved," Tricia said when Di told her the news. She was standing in the middle of her small bedroom at the Home, surrounded by crumpled chiffon and wrinkled silk as she tried to pick out colors for her bridesmaids, but she took the time to beam a happy if distracted smile at Di.

"I've been worrying and worrying about what you all would do without me. Not that I'm so vain to think of myself as indispensable"—

"I'm sure Blair would disagree," Di interjected mischievously.

Tricia blushed and continued as if nothing had been said. –"But I knew it would be hard to have it be you alone running things—no Persis, and now no me. But having Lady Leah come help will solve everything! I can get married now with a clear conscience."

"Where are you going for your honeymoon?" Di asked.

Tricia smiled in pure contentment. "Carlisle. Aunt Sara and Uncle Laurent"—for so Blair's parents had requested to be addressed—"have offered us the Golden Milestone for two weeks. Blair offered to take me to Europe, but I can't think of anyplace lovelier to spend the first month of marriage than Prince Edward Island."

"I couldn't agree more," Di concurred warmly.

* * *

That weekend was a tea for Tricia, hosted by Mrs. Robert Kennedy, an old acquaintance of the Woods family. At first, it had looked as though Di wouldn't be able to attend, as it would leave no one at the Home with the children. Then Aunt Leslie came to her rescue and volunteered to stay with the children during the tea.

"After all," she said with a smile. "It's only for a few hours. And being surrounded by all your children will help me forget that it has been six whole weeks since I held my baby granddaughters!"

Put like that, Di had no argument, and so she and Tricia headed off shortly after dinner. Tricia was perfectly at ease, but Di, who avoided social events like the plague, was slightly nervous.

"Don't worry, Di," Tricia tried to calm her. "Mrs. Stedman will be there, and Aunt Sara and her daughters. Just stick close to one of them and you'll have nothing to worry about."

Di tried to stop twisting her hands inside their dove-grey gloves together. "Yes, but Mrs. Kennedy is one of the Home's most influential patrons, and if I behave like an idiot, we could lose her support."

Tricia laughed out loud. "Oh Di, you're worrying over nothing! I've never seen you behave like an idiot, not in all the time I've known you. Don't you know how I've always admired your dignity and elegance?"

"Really?" Di had always considered herself the most awkward of the three Blythe sisters.

"You're always so self-confident and poised … I wish I could be that way."

Di laughed herself suddenly and stooped to kiss the younger girl's cheek. "You're a darling just the way you are. Don't ever wish to change."

Feeling more at ease, Di followed her friend into Mrs. Kennedy's grand, gloomy home. There they were greeted by the old lady herself, who was a tiny, wrinkled woman with icy blue eyes that seemed to bore into Di's soul and find her wanting, and Mrs. Robin Stuart, Mrs. Kennedy's married daughter. Di had heard some queer, garbled tale about Mrs. Stuart and a divorce, which shocked her provincial mind to its core, but looking at the young, pretty woman with the golden curls and tinkling laugh, she decided the report she'd heard had completely maligned her.

Mrs. Stuart tucked Tricia's arm inside her own and led her around the room, introducing her to all the ladies. Mrs. Kennedy, who had apparently decided Di was not worth her time, turned her back and followed the other two. Left thus to her own devices, Di stood awkwardly in the foyer for a few moments, before catching sight of Aunt Jen's familiar face and moving toward her with a sense of relief.

"So glad you're here, dear," Aunt Jen said in a low tone. "Everyone else is dreadfully stuffy and boring." She gave a wry smile. "I suppose my nose is out of joint because I'm not used to being shunted aside. In Summerside I'm still a most important person, and even in my own circle of acquaintance here in Toronto I've earned a place for myself, but the Kennedys are of a slightly higher social circle than the Stedmans."

"And I'm just a simple girl from Prince Edward Island who doesn't seem to belong at all," Di whispered ruefully. "I can't think how I let Tricia talk me into this."

"Don't worry," Aunt Jen advised warmly. "Just smile and nod and for pity's sake, _don't_ mention the Island to old Mrs. Kennedy!"

"Whyever not?" Di asked in amazement.

"For some reason she has the oddest prejudice against the Island. Didn't you wonder why Mrs. Ford wasn't invited, when she's connected with Tricia and you and of good social standing?"

"I suppose I didn't think of it," Di admitted.

"Well, Mrs. Kennedy was very gracious and charming to Mrs. Ford for many years, until right after the War, when she suddenly started snubbing her and refusing to have anything to do with her. Ever since then, if anyone so much as mentions P.E.I. in her presence, she freezes up and won't speak to them ever again."

"How bizarre!" Di said, wondering at such irrational behavior. How could anyone be prejudiced against the Island? "But both you and Uncle Lewis are from the Island," it suddenly occurred to her. "How is it you're here?"

Aunt Jen winked conspiratorially at her. "Since Lewis inherited the business from his uncle, who was a long-standing citizen of Toronto, she just assumes we're both Torontonians—and we've never disillusioned her! Dreadfully deceitful, I know, but we really can't afford to fall out with her. She has tremendous influence in the city, you know, and she could ruin us without even half trying. And people say the Pringles are elitists!"

Di shook her head smilingly.

A diversion occurred at that moment when "Mrs. Sara Giraud and daughters," were announced. A little thrill of electricity ran around the room, and when the tall, stately woman with the rich brown hair and red mouth entered, a joint sigh rose up from all the ladies.

"So that is Tricia's new mother-in-law," murmured Aunt Jen. "She certainly is _somebody_, isn't she?"

Di had to agree. She had heard of the famous Sara Stanley all her life, but never expected to actually meet her!

The three daughters, Felicity, Olivia, and Alice, followed their mother in. Smiling and gracious, they carried themselves with poise, but none of them, except Alice, had an ounce of their mother's indefinable charm. Alice, who was a dark, velvety creature with hair like the night and eyes that shone like stars, could have lit up the room on her own account. And when she smiled and said: "Good afternoon," every lady suddenly felt as though it was, indeed, the very best afternoon she had ever lived through.

Alice reminded Di slightly of Blair, and vaguely remembered Tricia mentioning once that she was his favorite sister, though there were six years between them—he was twenty and she fourteen.

"My," said Aunt Jen. "I suddenly feel as though even being a Pringle isn't so much to boast about."

And Di, who was proud from the top of her curly crown to her very toes of being a Blythe, couldn't help but feel the same.

As though a fresh breeze had entered the room with the Giraud ladies, everyone suddenly smiled and was much more gracious. Di even relaxed enough to venture out from Aunt Jen's side and meet some of the more kind-appearing ladies, several of whom were very interested in the Home and what they could do to support it.

Mrs. Kennedy appeared in their midst right when Di was describing some of Bran's and the twins' livelier antics.

"My, my," she said with a chilly smile. "They certainly are practicing new methods of discipline with children these days. Such behavior would never have been tolerated by the asylums of _my_ day."

With difficulty, Di controlled her flash of temper and managed to give an easy laugh. "Oh, we still discipline, Mrs. Kennedy, but really, I see no point for children to be bullied and squelched, simply because they've been unfortunate enough to lose their parents, do you?"

The group around her held their breath at hearing someone so young address Mrs. Kennedy so audaciously. Di herself felt as though she had committed _lèse-majesté_ when Mrs. Kennedy glared right through her with those steel blue eyes.

"So tell me, my dear," with a patronizing tone, "Has anyone adopted these un-squelched children of yours, or are they still living off the charity of the citizens of this city?"

In her anger, Di forgot what Aunt Jen had told her about Mrs. Kennedy's disapproval of Aunt Leslie, and spoke unthinkingly. "Why, as a matter of fact, the twins were adopted by a dear friend of mine: Miss Persis Ford, daughter of Owen and Leslie Ford. Perhaps you've heard of them?"

Mrs. Kennedy raised one thin eyebrow. "You are friends with the Ford family?"

"More than that," Di said triumphantly. "My sister is married to their son, Kenneth Ford." Too late, she remembered that Mrs. Kennedy held a grudge against the Fords, and closed her mouth hastily, but the damage was done.

Mrs. Kennedy's face turned white, with two little spots of red on her cheeks, but before she could speak, one of the other ladies blundered in, hoping to ease what she saw as an unnecessarily tense situation.

"Kenneth Ford? I think I've heard of him. Isn't he the assistant editor of the _Saturday Evening_? Quite an up-and-coming young fellow, so I've been told—in fact, I hear that there's talk of promoting him to full editor in a few years."

A small gasp was heard from Mrs. Stuart, who glanced at her mother with a frightened expression.

Mrs. Kennedy's glare froze even more, but when she spoke, it was in a calm, icily cold voice. "We do not read that rag in this household," she said contemptuously.

With that, she turned her back on Di and ignored her for the rest of the afternoon. Worried and confused, Di crept back to Aunt Jen's side.

"What was that all about?" she whispered. "What's wrong with the _Saturday Evening_?"

Aunt Jen shook her head with a concerned expression. "I don't know, but I'm afraid"—looking at Di's face, still young and hopeful, she closed her mouth with a snap and would not say what it was she feared.

But Di still worried, and the tea was spoiled for her—she couldn't even feel much of a thrill when Sara Stanley came over and actually _spoke_ to her, inquiring about the Home and praising all her efforts for the children there.


	18. Chapter 18

Di was far too sensible to keep worrying over a prejudiced old woman, however, and by the time Tricia and Blair's wedding day rolled around, she had nearly forgotten the incident.

The morning dawned bright and clear, and Di's heart rejoiced as she flew about trying to get twenty-odd children ready for the festivities that her friend would have such a glorious day to remember.

There were a million things to be done, but finally, Di had all the children ready when Tricia's Aunt Becca and Uncle Bev showed up at the Home. They were to take charge of the children before and during the ceremony, freeing Di for her maid of honor duties.

Di saw at once why Tricia loved them so much—Beverly King was an older, shorter version of his son Alan, and Aunt Becca was warm and inviting with a smile that seemed to encompass everyone and everything. The children all liked them at once, and with a strict warning to Peter to keep a close eye on them all, Di took little Polly and dashed off to the Woods mansion.

Tricia had, after much deliberation, decided to garb her attendants in pale pink and light green. Di, on account of her red hair, as well as being maid of honor, was in green with a pink sash, while Felicity, Olivia, and Alice were in pink with green sashes. Little Polly, of course, wore white, but she had a pink sash, and green ribbons flowing down from the wreath of daisies in her auburn hair.

Tricia, looking radiant in white silk, carrying a bouquet of pink roses, beamed at them all as they assembled before her.

"You look marvelous," she said. "I'm so happy I don't think I could hold one more drop. Oh, thank you all, for doing your part to make this the best day of my life!"

And she held out her arms to them, and, despite the expensive silk gown, they all rushed in and engulfed her in loving hugs.

The ceremony itself went smoothly. Di only paid attention to it with half her mind, as part of the other half was busy watching Bran to see to it that he didn't act up, and the rest was unobtrusively trying to scan the crown to see if she could spot Patrick and his fiancée.

But it was a lovely ceremony, and if Tricia's voice didn't have the carrying power and breathless poignancy of Blair's, love and trust trembled in every tone, making it just as beautiful in its own way.

Afterward, at the formal reception, Di finally spotted Patrick and Elizabeth. They were hovering around the bride and groom, offering congratulations, when Patrick's eye fell on Di, standing a little distance away and merely watching. With a whispered word in his fiancée's ear, he took her by the arm and led her over to meet Di.

"Diana Blythe," he said properly, yet with a slight twinkle in his eye, "May I present Miss Elizabeth Craig?"

Di suddenly swallowed something in her throat. She couldn't understand why she felt rather as though she would cheerfully stick a dagger into this black-haired, black-eyed girl's side. The day felt colder and greyer than it had a moment ago, and she was abruptly sick of all the festivities and people around her.

Aware that Patrick was looking at her strangely, she managed to paste a smile onto her face. "I'm pleased to meet you," she said, in a voice that sounded strained to her own ears. "I've heard a great deal about you."

Patrick's eyes turned concerned at the odd tone of her voice and suddenly pale cheeks, but Elizabeth seemed not to notice anything amiss. She smiled cheerfully.

"As have I, both from your brother, and from Pat. I think it's just too cute what you're doing with all these orphans here. Pat talks about it all the time, and your brother just brags about you something awful." She laughed merrily, and Di felt as though she would like to throw her head back and howl.

Was this Patrick's soul-mate, this girl who called Patrick "Pat," and thought the Home was "too cute?" And since when had Shirley ever "bragged" about anything "something awful?"

They said a few more commonplace words to each other, and then the two of them moved off, Elizabeth supremely unconcerned, and Patrick glancing back over his shoulder worriedly at Di, who still looked rather ill.

For her part, Di _felt_ rather ill. For a little while now, she had thought that she would enjoy hating this girl, but now that she had met her, she realized there was nothing to hate. Hate was too strong an emotion for someone as shallow as this. Elizabeth Craig was a pretty, superficial, ignorant girl, just the same as so many in the world. There was nothing wrong with her, but she simply had no depth of character whatsoever.

This was not at all the right girl for Patrick! He needed someone who was strong, who understood him, who would support and encourage him and talk to him on his own level …

"Someone like me," she whispered unhappily to herself.

* * *

Di went back to the Home that evening desperate to talk to someone—Shirley, Tricia, Mother, Nan—anyone. Most of all, she wanted to talk to Patrick, but she couldn't do that, either. He belonged to a shallow, artificial woman who called him "Pat," and she, Di, had no claim on him anymore.

"Oh mercy," she sighed, running a hand through her red curls. "What am I going to do?"

Could she, Di Blythe, the sensible, practical matron of a successful Orphan Home, really be in love with a man who was going to marry another woman? And if she was, how had it happened? _When_ had it happened? When had Patrick gone from "best friend," to so much more?

And most importantly, what was she going to do about it?

"Well, that's a silly question," she muttered impatiently to herself as she changed from her wedding finery into a simple cotton house dress. "There's nothing I can do about it, except get over him. He's going to marry Elizabeth—the _idiot_!—and that's all there is to it."

She felt somewhat uneasy, though. Her family was famous—or infamous—for loving on after all hope was gone. Look at Dad, loving Mother all through school and university, even when it seemed she was going to marry Royal Gardner. And look at Rilla, remaining faithful to Ken on merely one little question, all through the years of war. Or Shirley, whose love for Cecily was as strong today as it had been the day they married, though she had been dead now for two years.

Di was very much afraid that she wouldn't get over Patrick, but she was determined to try. With that in mind, she went down to her office and spent the next several hours, when she should have been sleeping, or at the very least remembering the finer details of the wedding, involved in very complicated and somewhat unnecessary paperwork, trying to bury the ache in her heart with chores.

* * *

**_Author's Note: _**_A short chapter, but definitely one of import! Now that Di has _**finally**_ realized her feelings_ _for Patrick, what will happen next? This story is winding to a close, but we still have a ways to go. As always, please read and review!_


	19. Chapter 19

Di did not find it so easy to "get over" the sudden and startling revelation of her true feelings for Patrick, and being only human, she spent a good many sleepless nights in agony.

However, unromantic as it may sound, she neither pined away to a shadow nor made herself violently ill by the extremity of her feelings. Indeed, she found, as time went on, that the pain of her new feelings was easier and easier to push to the back of her mind, and while the ache was always there, dully, in her heart, it didn't bother her greatly after a while.

She never told anyone of her love for Patrick, although she longed to cry on Mother's—or Shirley's—shoulder. Somehow, it just seemed too shameful to her that she could be in love with an almost-married man; she just couldn't admit it. For once she was relieved at the great distance between her and her family—she had a sneaking suspicion Mother's keen eyes would discern her difficulty.

Having Leah and Freddy back at the Home was a great help. The children were all a bit in awe of the cool lady with the quiet smile and distant manner, but she was, as she had promised, a great help with all the managerial work.

Freddy's time in Avonlea had changed him for the better. Once so quiet and frail, he was now as healthy and happy a child as one could wish to see. Still somewhat reserved, he positively glowed with life now, and Di actually caught him laughing once or twice as he played with the other children.

He and Peter still spent a great deal of time together, but Freddy was quite happy to spend most of his time with his sister; the bond that had grown between them was lovely to see. He was protective and caring of her, while she petted and pampered him. Had Freddy been a different child, he would have been in danger of being spoiled, but having a great deal of sense in that quiet head of his, he merely blossomed under this new treatment.

Leah and Di's friendship progressed, as well. It was nothing like Di's friendship with Tricia—that had held much of a "mentoring" aspect to it, whereas Leah and Di met as equals, rank and nationality meaning nothing. Both had something to give the other, and both benefited greatly from the companionship.

* * *

One sultry August morning, Di was surprised to see Emma ushering Aunt Jen into her office. None of the Home's patrons ever visited without making an appointment, and Aunt Jen wasn't due for another few weeks. 

"Is everything all right?" she asked anxiously, noting the worried look in Aunt Jen's green eyes and the angry set of her chin.

"I don't mind telling you, we're in some trouble, Di, my dear," Aunt Jen said at once, sitting down without even removing her hat. "You'd better call Lady Leah in; I think we're going to need all the minds we can get on this problem."

Alarmed and puzzled, Di sent Emma for Leah, who arrived moments later, looking quite composed and only slightly curious.

"My dears," Aunt Jen said, "I'm afraid I have some rather grave news for you."

"Well, what is it?" Di cried. "Don't keep us in suspense!"

Aunt Jen inhaled deeply. "Very well. In the past week, I have had three fellow patrons of the Home—Mrs. David Coleman, Mrs. Franklin Dean, and Mrs. Roger West—graciously inform me that they would no longer be able to support us."

The color receded from Di's face. She felt as though someone had struck her, hard. "Why?" she gasped.

Aunt Jen pursed her lips. "Mrs. Coleman is old Mrs. Kennedy's daughter, and the other two are friends of hers. Di, I'm afraid that Mrs. Kennedy has set herself against you, and consequently, the Home."

"But why?" she cried. "Simply because I'm from the Island? What does she have against us?"

"I'm not sure, but I know it has something to do with her daughter's—unfortunate—marriage," Aunt Jen answered. "Mrs. Kennedy is a stupid, prejudiced, bitter old woman, but I'm afraid she can do quite a bit of damage to us, if she desires."

"Well then, we will just have to fight her, won't we?" Leah interjected calmly. "Di, you know that I will be more than happy to help keep the Home running."

"I won't take your money, Leah," Di said angrily.

"Had it not been for this Home, who knows what would have happened to Freddy?" Leah argued. "I consider it a debt owed to you, considering all you've done for us."

"We can call on Tricia, as well," Aunt Jen said. "Her uncle will continue to support us if she asks him to, and she might even be able to talk her new in-laws into helping. The Girauds have enough money to run several orphan homes single-handedly. We won't give up, but it is going to be a battle. Mrs. Kennedy, if she is determined to ruin us, will not give in easily. She has city councilmen in her court, too, who could certainly cause problems with permits, regulations, and so on."

Di put a hand to her head dizzily. She couldn't fathom what she had done to deserve such bitter enmity from this old lady. She heard the sense in what Aunt Jen and Leah were saying, but her sensitive soul flinched away from the … _vulgarity_ of fighting over all this. She couldn't lower herself to the same level as Mrs. Kennedy … but she _couldn't_ let the Home be closed, either … could she?

"Maybe if I just went and spoke to Mrs. Kennedy," she said. "This has to be a misunderstanding. If I just explained things to her, I'm sure we could work something out."

Aunt Jen looked at the young woman pityingly. "I'm afraid not, Di," she said gently. "Mrs. Kennedy is not like anyone you've encountered in your life before. She will not see reason, and nothing would make her happier than to have you—well, _grovel_ to her, only to refuse you your request at the end."

Di lifted her head, a green spark suddenly flashing through her own eyes. "I would never grovel, not for anything," she said proudly.

"Of course not, but that is how she would look at it," Aunt Jen explained. "No, I'm afraid we either have to fight, or accept the fact that we are going to be shut down. How many children are still in your care, Di?"

Leah answered. "Two children were adopted yesterday, which brings our total down to fourteen."

"Too many to just cast out into the streets," Aunt Jen said.

Di's head seemed to clear at the thought of her children. "One is too many to cast into the streets," she said with determination. "I'll get in touch with Tricia this afternoon. Aunt Jen, could you contact all your friends who aren't intimidated by Mrs. Kennedy? And Leah, I'm afraid we're going to have to use your rank. People who might not care anything about an Island girl would think twice before crossing English nobility."

A small smile played around Aunt Jen's lips. "So we are going to fight?"

Di narrowed her eyes. "I would prefer not to do this, but apparently we have no choice. I _will not_ let this Home be closed, not if I can help it."

"Good girl!" Aunt Jen said decisively. "Right, let's get to it, then."

* * *

The next few days were spent in a grim struggle to combat Mrs. Kennedy's work—as the days went by, her handiwork became more and more evident, as one after another patron presented their regrets to Aunt Jen or to Di herself, and withdrew their support. 

Some seemed genuinely sorry, but as though they had no other choice, while most appeared perfectly indifferent to the plight in which they were leaving over a dozen orphans.

However, Aunt Jen and Uncle Lewis worked tirelessly to recruit new supporters, while Tricia, now happily settled in Montreal, pledged her help, as well as that of her in-laws. Mrs. Giraud even said she would come speak at a rally to raise money, if necessary.

Leah, however, eclipsed them all. Not only did she wire her steward, back in England, to start funding the Home, she ruthlessly used her rank to overcome every obstacle in their path. When a city official apologetically approached them with a list of injunctions against them, she squelched the poor man so thoroughly that he crawled back to his office feeling as though he had been caught in a steel trap disguised as silk, and barely escaped with his life.

Where people wavered over whether to help them or not, Leah thickened her accent and spoke of "my cousin, the Viscount of Dorney," or "Ah yes, the Duke of Governeur; we used to play with his children in our youth," until the awed listeners were practically kissing her shoes.

Di still hated all of this—it just seemed so _cheap_—but she knew it was necessary. She would not give in to Mrs. Kennedy!

And so the battle went on, and soon it became evident that neither side would gain ascendancy over the other. That was when Mrs. Kennedy changed her tactics.

The first Di knew of it was when she went to the home of Mrs. Faulkner, a poor, shiftless woman, whose husband was dead, and whose three children were all under the ages of seven. Di had met her in the market one day, and had helped her purchase enough food to feed her family for the next two days.

After that, Di picked up the habit of visiting once a week, bringing food, oil, and other necessities with her, and Mrs. Faulkner grew fond of her, in her own dispirited way. She asked Di once, when she was violently ill with a chest cold, if Di would promise to take her children into the Home if anything ever happened to her.

"I got no family," she coughed, clutching Di's hand with her skinny claw. "And I don't trust non of the asylums around here. Turn my children into slaves, that's what they'll do. Promise—_promise_ me you'll take care of my babies, after I'm gone."

Di had promised, and now she heard that Mrs. Faulkner had just passed away. She immediately went to the shack she called home to take the children, only to learn that they had already been taken charge of by a city official and taken to a different asylum.

"When did this happen?" she asked the neighbor who imparted this information.

The woman, much impressed by her trim apparel and general appearance of smartness, answered readily. "Just this morning, miss. I were with Betty when she died, and as soon as she were gone I sent my man to fetch the undertaker. When he come, an official come with him, and he took the children. I offered to keep 'em for a few days, just 'til they got used to their ma being gone, but he said he were taking them to the Carmelite Orphanage for Girls."

"What about Billy, the boy?" Di asked.

The neighbor shrugged. "The man said Billy would get sent away, to a boys' school in Mantioba."

Di couldn't understand how all this had happened so quickly, without her knowledge. She thanked the woman, and went right to the Carmelite Orphanage for Girls, where she met with Sister Agnes, head of administration.

"Why yes, Miss Blythe, we were told about Mrs. Faulkner's death nearly as soon as it happened," the sister said. "We were sorry not to be able to take care of the boy, as well, but we did the best we could. The school in Manitoba specializes in parentless children, and he'll be well taken-care-of."

"But surely the children shouldn't be separated," Di argued.

Sister Agnes shrugged. "Sadly, there is no other option."

"Sister, I promised Betty Faulkner that I would take her children in to my Home—the Shirley-Stedman Home—if anything ever happened to her. It was her express wish. Why were the children not given to my care?"

"Why, I hadn't heard anything about that," Sister Agnes exclaimed. "We were merely informed that there were two little girls needing to be taken in, and so we brought them here. I was not aware that Mrs. Faulkner wished them to go to you."

"Well, now that you are aware of it, you may release them to my care," said Di, rising. "And I will write to the school in Manitoba and have them send Billy back."

Sister Agnes looked embarrassed. "I'm afraid I cannot do that, Miss Blythe."

Di sat back down again. "Why not?"

"Well … your Home is not considered an acceptable option for orphans anymore."

"_What_?" gasped outraged Di.

"I thought something had happened to it … we were simply told that no child would be allowed to go to the Shirley-Stedman Home from now on. Are you telling me that nothing is wrong, after all?"

"Oh, something is wrong, all right," Di said grimly, rising to her feet once more. "But not with the Home."

Without further explanation to the confused nun, she turned on her heel and stalked out.

After explaining the situation to Aunt Jen and Leah, Aunt Jen shook her head.

"I should have expected this. If she can't shut us down financially or legally, Madam Kennedy is simply going to see to it that we have no more children coming through our doors. Once the children we already have are adopted, that will be it. We'll have to shut down, because there won't be any reason to stay open."

"How can she do that?" Di cried, her eyes flashing angrily as she stormed around the room. She hadn't sat down since she returned from the Carmelite Orphanage. "How does she have the authority to block us from getting children?"

"Mrs. Kennedy is a spider, sitting at the center of her web at 60 Gay, and we cannot see all the threads she has," Aunt Jen said somewhat poetically. "I don't know how she did it, but the fact is that the deed is done."

Di planted her hands on her hips. "Doesn't she care about the children? The reason I opened this home was because all the asylums here were overcrowded and did their best to crush every little bit of individuality out of the children in their care. This is a haven for children who won't fit in anywhere else. We're unique among orphanages, and yet all she cares about is her own stupid prejudice! How can she _be_ so heartless?"

"Don't give in, Di," Leah said. "We will fight this, too."

Di finally sat down, throwing her hands up in disgust. "Why bother? Everything we do, she will counteract. It's so pointless!"

"Do you want to give up?" Aunt Jen asked, a dangerous flash in her eyes.

Di was quiet for a moment. Then—

"No. Never," she said. "But there has to be another way."

Aunt Jen rose to go. "Well, think of one soon, Di, because if you don't, it will be the end of the Shirley-Stedman Home."

* * *

**_Author's Note: _**_Mrs. Kennedy viciously attacks! What do you think? Will Di be able to save the orphanage? Let me know what you think of this new situation!_


	20. Chapter 20

As the days and weeks stretched into months, very little changed. Aunt Jen did her best, but Mrs. Kennedy blocked their every attempt to move on. Di struggled on, trying to keep her integrity _and_ her fighting spirit. The Blythe stubbornness served her well now; against all odds, she refused to give up.

The one good thing about all this, she reflected wryly, was that it kept her from dwelling on Patrick too much. Visions of having to close the Home kept her awake at nights now, not visions of Patrick married to Elizabeth. Shirley wrote that they had set a date for next spring, but even that news sent nothing more than a dull pang through her heart.

One bright spot came in October, when a wealthy Torontonian couple of Italian descent adopted Elisabetta and Francesco. They had five children of their own, all grown now and moved on, and they wanted lively young faces around their home again to keep them company.

Di was more than happy to give the two children over to small, dark, twinkling Isabella Milani and her husband, the tall and kindly silent Roberto.

Elisabetta took to Mrs. Milani right away, while Francesco shyly watched Mr. Milani from wide eyes, until that man, noticing, drew him near and told him stories about visiting Italy before the War, and the vineyards and beautiful architecture everywhere. Francesco was fascinated at once.

"Thank you so much," chirped Mrs. Milani in her high, fluting voice. "It's been so lonely ever since our little Amaranta married and moved away. She was our youngest, you know … it just hasn't seemed the same without her."

"I'm very happy for you all," Di told her with genuine warmth. "Elisabetta and Francesco are high-spirited, but very well-behaved children—unlike some of our hoydens," she added wryly, catching a glimpse of Bran tearing up the stairs, fist clenched tight around some purloined treasure, his little face alive with unholy glee, as Emma pursued him hotly.

Mrs. Milani twinkled at her from bright dark eyes. "Now, wouldn't life be dull if they were all well-behaved?"

Di laughed, and reflected that even if Mrs. Kennedy succeeded in keeping them from taking in any more children, she would always have Bran!

* * *

Di hadn't told her family too much about her difficulties, not wanting to upset them, but Rilla showed up that night, four-year-old Gilly in tow.

"Diana Blythe," she burst out as soon as she was inside. "_Why_ haven't you told us about your problems with old Mrs. Kennedy?"

"Hello, Rilla, it's nice to see you, too," Di said calmly. She picked up her nephew and planted a kiss on his rosy cheek. "Hello, Gilly!"

He beamed at his Auntie Di, and promptly wriggled out of her grasp to go play with the other children.

Rilla tapped one foot on the floor impatiently, glaring at Di from hazel eyes. "Well?" she demanded.

"Rilla, I didn't want to upset you," Di said finally. "You've enough to think about with Gilly and the twins—where are they, by the way?"

"At home with Kenneth. It does him good to have to stay home alone with them sometimes—teaches him to appreciate all the work I do!" Rilla twinkled conspiratorially at her sister before turning serious again. "Di, I can't believe you've been struggling with this all on your own. I never would have found out if Aunt Jen hadn't mentioned something to Mother Leslie, who promptly told me. Now, tell me all about it, so I can help you fix this."

"Rilla …" Di protested, before giving in. "Have you always been this bossy?" she asked resignedly.

Rilla's smile flashed out triumphantly. "It was a habit I acquired during the War. Now, tell."

Di explained everything to her—from the disastrous tea, to the patrons withdrawing their support, to the legal hedges, to the way they were now blocked from getting any more children.

Rilla groaned. "Di, you _idiot_," she said sadly. "Don't you know that Mrs. Kennedy hates the _Saturday Evening_ worse than she hates the Island?"

"How should I know that?" Di asked indignantly. Really, Rilla was going a bit far. "I don't know anything about her.

"Mrs. Kennedy's daughter married Andrew Stuart, from Charlottetown—he was in the same regiment as Jem, if you remember—and Mrs. Kennedy hated him. Something happened—Ken suspects the old lady had a hand in it—and Mrs. Stuart left Andrew and came back to Toronto with her baby daughter."

"Good heavens," Di said blankly. "Then the rumors about her are true, after all!"

"I'm afraid so," Rilla said. "So that is why Mrs. Kennedy hates Islanders—because she feels that one of them ruined her daughter's life—but she hates the _Saturday Evening_ because Andrew writes for us. That's how Ken and I know so much about this."

"Oh dear," Di said inadequately, seeing how her temper and hasty tongue had inadvertently set this whole train in motion.

"Oh dear, indeed," Rilla agreed. "But don't worry, darling, we'll get through this. Ken is making some rather influential friends, and he's interesting them in this Home. Plus, we're going to have one of our writers do a feature piece on what makes this asylum unique—how your method of raising the children is superior to any other's, how your children are happier and turn out to be better-adjusted and more useful citizens—that sort of thing. Once public opinion swings in your favor, there won't be much Mrs. Kennedy can do against you."

Di laughed suddenly. "Rilla, you're a darling! Here I've been worrying away for months now, not wanting to bother any of the family, and if I'd only told you about this when it happened, you could have saved so much fuss."

Rilla smiled smugly. "I told you so," she said.

For once, Di didn't mind her little sister lording it over her. Instead, she was devoutly thankful for a sister who loved her enough to help, even without being asked.

"So," she said, changing the subject. "How are my beautiful nieces?"

"Well," Rilla said wryly. "I think we misnamed them. Anna's hair is a golden fleece, just like Mother Leslie's, and her eyes are as blue as the Gulf as dawn, whereas Ally has decidedly red locks, and grey eyes that _already_ turn green when she's mad—and does she get mad! She howls louder than any baby I've ever seen."

Di laughed. "Poor little thing. It's easy for you to judge, Rilla, but if _your_ hair was red, you'd understand how painful it is. I don't blame her for howling!"

"My hair was red when I was little," Rilla protested. "I can't help that it darkened as I grew older."

Di touched one of her own fiery curls. "Your hair was never this red. Poor Ally baby! I hope she doesn't envy Anna her golden crown. I loved Nan dearly, but I always wished I could be the one with brown hair."

The two sat and talked about family matters for a while longer, and then Rilla, with a sigh, decided she should get back.

"Ken is perfectly helpless without me—how like a man!" she said with a very good imitation of Miss Cornelia's manner. She gathered up her sleepy son and headed out. Just at the door, however, she turned back and asked solemnly:

"Di, what would you do if … if something happened to this place?"

Di shook her head. "I can't answer that, Rilla. Start again, I suppose, wherever I was led. But hopefully it won't come to that!"

Rilla still didn't leave. "Di … I know you've always been bothered at my matchmaking attempts, but … can you ever see yourself getting married?"

Di hesitated. There was only one man she could see herself ever marrying, but she _couldn't_ share with Rilla about Patrick—she just couldn't. Instead, she said:

"I think I'm destined to be an old maid. And as long as I have my children, I will be content with that."

"But what if you didn't have them anymore?"

Di shivered. "I prefer not to cross that bridge until and unless I come to it," she said honestly.

Rilla evaluated her with one long glance, and then nodded. "Goodnight, dear," she said.

"Goodnight, Rilla."

* * *

Not only did Rilla lose no time in setting the campaign to promote the Shirley-Stedman Home in motion, but she also contacted the rest of the family to fill them in on what was happening. Mother and Dad immediately wrote with concern and encouragement, Jem sent reams of advice, and from Nan came the best help of all.

_"Dearest of all twin sisters," _she wrote,

"_How could you not let your old Nan know about this? It's just like you to struggle along in silence, when one word would get you all kinds of help. You are far too independent, my dear sister. What else is family for, if not to help?_

_"But I'm not going to scold you. Poor dear! You've been through enough already without me adding to your burden. So here is what I _am_ going to do:_

_"Jerry is friends with some MPs from Toronto—and I am acquainted with their wives! I am hosting a tea tomorrow afternoon, and I shall casually mention the good things my sister is doing for the city through her orphan asylum._

_"You know that Jerry has a great deal of influence with government officials throughout the province, and he is going to use it to see to it that the Shirley-Stedman Home is _not_ shut down! Between the two of us, we'll put up a good fight for you, dearest of Di's._

_"I know that you are probably wishing you didn't have to go through all this just to keep your doors open—it does seem distasteful, but I've been involved in politics long enough to know that sometimes you just have to work with the system, not against it. So don't fret, Di, and just leave everything to me. This is your dream—I won't let anyone take it away from you!_

_Love always,_

_Nan._

_P.S. The children send their love—Blythe is four, and the very image of Jerry: black hair, brown eyes (the color is mine, the size and shape Jerry's), handsome as can be! Jerry says Dee looks like me, but she's ever so much prettier than I ever was—no, truly, she is. As for Johnny, I must confess that the other two overshadow him already, but he's just as quiet and good-natured as one could ask. They know all about their Auntie Di, even though they don't get to see her, and I show them your picture every day so that if you ever do come for a visit, you won't be a stranger."_

Di was horribly ashamed of herself, but after she received Nan's letter, she just sat down and cried. Somehow, knowing that her family was in this with her made all the difference in the world.

"A family is a beautiful thing," Leah said, a slightly wistful note in her voice. "Yours seems especially good."

"It is," Di agreed fervently, blowing her nose. "I'm such a baby to fall to pieces like this, but I can't seem to help myself," she added with an embarrassed laugh.

"Nonsense," Leah said austerely. "You've held together marvelously well; you deserve a good cry. Well, and so things are going to work out after all! Isn't it wonderful?"

"_Yes_," Di said. "I didn't think anything in the world could be so wonderful as this."

Even as she said it, the thought occurred to her that having Patrick in her life would be just as wonderful, but she buried the treacherous thought deep down. She wouldn't let romantic regrets ruin this happy moment!


	21. Chapter 21

Nan was as good as her word, and between her efforts and Rilla's, Mrs. Kennedy soon was forced to retire from the field, defeated.

Di was shaking hands with yet another of Jerry and Nan's political allies as they left the Home, when she saw a sleek, expensive car pull up front. A man in a smart chauffeur's uniform hopped briskly out and opened the back door, revealing, to her shock, Mrs. Kennedy's daughter, Mrs. Stuart.

Dressed elegantly in a grey fur coat and hat, she stood uncertainly on the front steps for a few moments, until Di came down to meet her.

"Mrs. Stuart?" she asked graciously, wondering what on earth she was doing here. "May I help you with something?"

"Miss Blythe," the other lady said, relief showing in her blue eyes. "Might I have a word with you?"

"Of course; come inside," Di said. "It's far too cold to stand to on the steps talking!" she added with a little laugh as they came inside, trying to set Mrs. Stuart at ease.

"Yes, our Toronto winters can be very bitter," Mrs. Stuart agreed. She waited until they were in Di's office, before bursting out:

"Miss Blythe, I really must apologize for my mother's actions against you and this asylum. Oh! I don't expect you to understand why she did it, but …"

Di looked her over curiously. "Mrs. Stuart, I don't hold you responsible for your mother's deeds. You have no need to apologize to me."

"Oh, but I do. This is all my fault … oh, how can I make you understand?"

Di felt a great wave of pity for this poor woman, twisting her hands together so nervously. "I understand more than perhaps you think, Mrs. Stuart. You see, my brother-in-law is acquainted with your—with your husband, Andrew Stuart, and he has filled me in on the likely reasons behind your mother's actions."

Mrs. Stuart looked relieved and ashamed at the same time. "Then you see why I must apologize. Were it not for my foolishness, my mother would hold no rancor toward Prince Edward Island or the _Saturday Evening_. Oh, I was so ashamed of what she was doing … trying to destroy something as noble as this Home!... but she would not listen to anything I said. She was so furious when you circumvented her … I don't think she expected an Island girl to have such powerful allies."

"I don't," Di admitted frankly. "But my sister does, and she would stop at nothing to help me. That's what family does, you know."

"Is it?" Mrs. Stuart muttered bitterly. She caught Di's eye and flushed. "Forgive me … I'm so nervous I don't know what I'm saying. My mother doesn't even know I'm here … if she found out she would be terrible! But I couldn't … I _couldn't_ let you think I didn't care at all about this. Oh! _Do_ say you forgive me."

"Why, I still don't think you have done anything to require my forgiveness," Di said. "However, if it makes you feel better, I can tell you with all my heart that I hold no bitterness toward you—or to your mother, even," finding the words true even as she spoke them. "It—hurts—slightly, to be so viciously attacked for no other reason besides my background and family—and we all want to be liked, you know, for who we are—but I'm not angry."

"How?" Mrs. Stuart asked in genuine bewilderment. "How can you possibly not be angry at Mother for what she tried to do?"

Di smiled a little as she tried to put words to her half-formed thoughts and feelings. "I'm not sure how, but it just seems like such—like such a waste, to be angry. Life is short, and I don't want to spend it miserably, dwelling on wrongs done to me, and hating everyone around me. My mother always taught us to not hold grudges, that it poisons everything … she knows from personal experience how foolish it is. Hatred affects every part of you, cutting off and choking everything good, until nothing is left but the hate … and then one day you wake up and don't even remember why you started hating in the first place, and all you have left then is an empty shell."

Di stopped and laughed in some embarrassment. "I'm sorry, please forgive my ramblings."

But Mrs. Stuart didn't look remotely amused. Instead, she leaned forward and impulsively grasped Di's hand. "I wish I could be like you," she said soberly.

With that, she left, leaving Di somewhat bemused, but feeling very sorry for the poor woman trapped with angry old Mrs. Kennedy, caught like a butterfly in a net, with no apparent escape.

* * *

There was one unexpected effect from Nan's efforts on Di's behalf. During the next several months, more and more wealthy families came to the Home to adopt children, taking them away faster than they were coming in, until by March, Peter, Polly, and Bran were the only ones left.

Di couldn't help but be perplexed by the way it was all working out, but she was genuinely thrilled to see her children all placed taken such good care of.

She had mortally offended one or two couples whose money could not buy peace or love for the children, but for the most part, she was happy to give them up.

"I do believe we have become the latest fashionable trend," Leah said amusedly. "Looking for a new form of entertainment? Try the Shirley-Stedman Home, where children are always in style!"

Di laughed. "I hope it's more than that, but even so, it's nice to see them all so well-placed."

"Indeed. One might even say that Mrs. Kennedy turned out to be a blessing in disguise, seeing how it has all turned out."

"I suppose one might," smiled Di.

* * *

Things became much more peaceful after that. During the day when the boys were at school, it was just Di, Leah, and Polly in the big brick house. Little Polly adored being the center of attention, but both Di and Leah started feeling a bit restless.

"I declare," Leah said in a rare bit of impatience one day, "I would never wish losing one's parents on any child, but surely there are some street children or _something_ we can take in!"

Di's lips curved ruefully. "It's not quite that simple. I can't just go pluck children randomly off the street, you know."

"I shall go mad if I don't have something to do soon," Leah admitted. "My life has been so hectic these last few years, that I can't seem to settle down to anything simple and serene. Don't we need to fight a few more battles with Mrs. Kennedy?"

"Why don't you go back to Avonlea?" Di suggested. "I'd hate to lose you here, but it really is slightly silly to have two of us—and Emma and Mrs. Goccia—just to take care of four children. I know Jessie would be delighted to have you back."

Leah shook her head. "I would love to go back, but I think—I really do think—that it's time Freddy and I went back to England."

Di sighed. "I was afraid that was coming. At least in Avonlea you'd be in the same country."

"Don't fret, my friend, England isn't that far away. We'll be back for visits, and you know that you are welcome any time."

Di raised a wry eyebrow. "My dear Lady Leah, I haven't been to my own home in nearly three years. What makes you think I could take a trip to England?"

Leah laughed warmly. "You know you'd be welcome any time."

"Thank you."

True to her word, Leah started making travel arrangements the very next day for her and Freddy to leave Canada. The first thing she did was send a telegram off to her steward, instructing him to make ready for their arrival. After that, it was steamer tickets, travel documents for Freddy, and a hundred other little things Di would never have thought of. She was amazed at Leah's efficiency.

"If I ever do travel," she said in mock awe, "I'll be sure to have you take care of all my arrangements."

"After all the traveling I've done just to find Freddy, it would be rather embarrassing if I weren't good at this!" Leah responded merrily.

Her spirits rose exponentially the closer it came to time for them to leave, while Di's sunk further and further down.

It wasn't so much the work anymore, but the thought that she was going to be left all alone—no Tricia, no Leah, and, worst of all, no Patrick. Could she really go on, for years and years, until her life had slipped away in a blur of dull sameness?

She thought of Shirley, alone at Green Gables—but he had the twins to keep him company as the years went by. Rilla, Nan, Jem—they all had spouses and children. She had no one: the only man she could ever think of marrying was about to wed another woman; her last friend was getting ready to leave her; and one by one, her children were being adopted. Even if she got new ones, they would eventually be adopted as well. What did she have to look forward to but loneliness?

Once or twice, she almost wished Mrs. Kennedy had been successful in shutting them down—at least then she'd have an excuse to go home—but she always pushed the thought away as unworthy and morbid.

"I must cheer up," she muttered fiercely to herself. "I will not allow myself to drag me down!"

She remembered a quote from Shakespeareshe had learned in school:

"Muster your wits; stand in your own defense."

"That's what I have to do," she decided. "If I do nothing, doom and gloom will overwhelm me. I am a rational, mature woman; I am not an adolescent to be tormented by 'moods.' The only person who has any control over how I feel is me: not Tricia, not Leah, not the children, not—not even Patrick."

This resolve helped get her through the next few weeks with a smile and pleasant attitude, no matter how many tears she shed into her pillow at night.

* * *

Spring was just starting to make herself known: pussy willows were peeking their furry heads out along the sides of the streets; a thin gauze of green seemed to be thrown over the trees; the snow was almost all melted away; and a few birds had even returned to cheer the pink and yellow sunrises.

At the Home, Leah and Freddy were leaving the next day. Di was in the kitchen with Mrs. Goccia, planning an elaborate going-away meal, when an angry peal at the doorbell echoed through the house.

"_Santa Maria_!" Mrs. Goccia exclaimed, throwing her floury hands up into the air. "It's the evil woman again, come to torment us and throw the _bambinos_ into the streets."

"I doubt that's Mrs. Kennedy," Di tried to soothe the nervous woman. "You take care of the bread; I'll see who's at the door."

Crossing the hall, she was just a few steps ahead of Leah, coming out of the playroom, as Emma opened the door and ushered in—

Jack Wright, to Di's utter shock.

Without looking at her or Emma, without even seeming to notice his surroundings or anything else, he limped across the hall to Leah and took her hands in his.

"You're leaving?" he said, anguish evident in his voice.

Leah's face showed no emotion, but her voice trembled slightly. "I must. It's time for Freddy to take up his duties—and now that Di had everything under control here at the Home, there's nothing to keep me in Canada."

His grip tightened to a point where he must have been crushing her hands, but she made no noise. "Nothing? All those months, those long talks—Leah, you didn't even tell me you were leaving! I had to find out from Shirley!"

Good old Shirley, Di thought. She supposed she really ought to leave the two of them alone, but seeing as how Emma was still standing at the door, her eyes popping and her mouth hanging open, Mrs. Goccia was peeking out from the kitchen with a rolling pin in her hand, ready to defend her _bambinos_ if necessary, and the four children were hovering in the doorway of the playroom, listening for all they were worth, she didn't really think it was too nosy of her to stay. Jack didn't seem particularly worried about privacy—besides, she wanted to know what was going to happen!

"I didn't think you'd be interested," Leah said.

"Not interested? Leah!"

"I have been here since July, and in all that time, not one word has come from you! Not a note, not a letter, not even a brief 'hello' in Jessie's letters! What was I to think but that you had gone back to wallowing in self-pity, and had forgotten all about me?"

Jack's dark eyes burned with intensity. "I could never forget you," he said, his voice low and passionate. "You're in my soul … my very blood. I didn't write because—because—well, look at me, Leah! I'm a poor farmer from Prince Edward Island, who can't even farm well because of a limp. You're British nobility. I have nothing to offer you. It's presumptuous for me to even _think_ of you."

"You _idiot_," she said with equal force. Di had never seen the composed Lady this worked up. Her dark eyes flashed, and her usually pale cheeks were bright red. "Do you think I care about that? What is money? What is a title, even? If it didn't stop me from being your friend in Avonlea, why do you think it would make a difference now? My parents are gone. My elder brother is gone. There is no one to make any objection, and even if there were, I wouldn't _care_! I can make my own decisions, Jack, and I do not make them based on something as silly as class differences. Do you think we are living in the eighteenth century? Or do you simply think me a snob?"

"No! Never. I just …" Jack's voice trailed off. "I'm a broken man, Leah. _You_ know how badly. Even if you had no title, I still could never be worthy of you."

"Then why are you here now?" she inquired frostily.

"Because … because I'm weak. Because when I heard that you were going back to England I felt worse than I had ever in my life, even after I was first wounded. I'm here because, even though I don't deserve you, I'm selfish enough to want you … to need you in my life. So here I am, hating myself for doing this, but doing it anyway."

He couldn't get down on one knee, but Jack made the question impressive enough as it was.

"Lady Leah Mercer, will you marry me?"

Di put both her hands to her mouth to hold back the small gasp that threatened to escape. Mrs. Goccia let out a muffled whoop, and Freddy nearly fell over.

Leah spoke slowly and evenly. "You claim that you are broken and unworthy of me, but so am I. We've been through enough hurt alone—I think it's time we allowed ourselves to help each other heal." Her sweet smile broke out over her face. "Yes, John Wright, I will marry you."

And right there, ignoring the jubilant spectators, Jack swept her into his arms and kissed her soundly.

* * *

_**Author's Note: **Yay! This last part of the chapter was so much fun to write. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I did. By the way, the Shakespeare quote is from _Love's Labour Lost_, but I read it first in Maud Hart Lovelace's _Emily of Deep Valley_. It's an absolutely wonderful book, and if you haven't read it, you need to. (Her Betsy-Tacy series is wonderful, as well) Let me know what you think of this chapter! Only a couple more to go--things are winding down._


	22. Chapter 22

Leah and Freddy couldn't postpone their trip, so they left as scheduled the next day, with Jack promising to follow them out as soon as he could arrange things back in Avonlea. They would get married in England, a blow to the Wrights, who couldn't possibly imagine traveling _that far_ for a wedding.

Then Leah wrote and informed Jessie she had already purchased tickets for all of them—Fred, Diana, Anne Cordelia and her brood, and Young Fred and Jessie and their two—to come out.

_"I won't take no for an answer, Jessie dear,"_ she wrote. _"So you might as well accept the fact that you will come. And I want all of you to stay for a while—you were so gracious and hospitable to Freddy and me, and I want to return the favor."_

She wanted Di to come out as well, but that was impossible. Even with only three children left, Di didn't feel as though she could justify making such a journey for only a wedding.

Besides, in her heart of hearts, although she was glad to her core for her two friends, she wasn't sure she could bear being around such joy. Life was very wearying around the Home now.

To be sure, Polly was as sweet and charming, Bran as mischievous and lovable, and Peter as quiet and calm, and Di still loved them dearly. She knew more children would come in time, but she just wasn't sure she had the heart for this anymore.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," she said one day, ruffling her hair impatiently. "All I ever do is feel sorry for myself. Diana Blythe, I'm ashamed of you! This life was your choice. You could have gotten married and settled down like Nan and Rilla. You didn't want that kind of life; you wanted to do something different, something meaningful and important! Well, what you are doing is still worthwhile, even if you are tired of it. So stop feeling sorry for yourself and get on with life!"

She went and found little Polly and took her for a walk, shaking off her blues and enjoying the fresh spring air.

The day was bright and warm, the little girl happy and contented, and Di felt her troubles start to melt away.

"There is joy to be had in merely living," she said silently to herself. "No matter what the circumstances, just being alive is reason enough to be glad. So the man I love is marrying another woman. Is that any reason to poison my entire life until everything is gloomy and dull? God is still in heaven—He had given me life and a family and a duty—isn't that enough? Think of all the true suffering there is out there in the world—I have absolutely _no excuse_ for my selfish wallowing in self-pity."

Preoccupied with such thoughts, Di would have walked all afternoon, but Polly's short five-year-old legs soon tired, and they turned back.

Still, the walk had done her a great deal of good, and that night at the dinner table, the children saw with pleasure that Mother Di was her old self again, laughing and loving.

Di felt ashamed of herself when their eyes brightened and they visibly relaxed. Had she really been that gloomy lately, that even the children felt they had to tip-toe around her?

Determined to make amends, she played with them after the meal, and when they went up to bed, she went upstairs with them.

Sitting at the foot of Peter's bed, with Polly snuggled in her lap, Di opened the book in her hands.

"I haven't read to any of you for a while," she said. "So I thought perhaps we'd start a new story. How does that sound?"

They were thrilled, and Di opened the book, _The Enchanted Castle_. "I was eleven years old when this book was published, and it became my favorite story. I've read it every year since then, and I think you'll enjoy it, too."

"You were eleven once?" Bran asked incredulously.

Di laughed and leaned over to tickle his stomach. "Of course I was, silly. What did you think?"

He laughed, too. "I can't see you as a little girl."

"What were you like?" Peter joined in.

Di smiled reminiscently. "I had long red braids, lots of freckles, and got into nearly as much trouble as Bran, here."

They all three laughed at that.

"You? Get into trouble? I don't believe it," Peter said.

"I'll tell you sometime about the time I ran away for the night to stay with my friend Jenny Penny," Di smiled. "But for now, the story."

The boys lay back comfortably, and Polly settled her head against Di's chest, and Di began to read:

" 'There were three of them—Jerry, Jimmy, and Kathleen. Of course, Jerry's name was Gerald, and not Jeremiah, whatever you may think; and Jimmy's name was James; and Kathleen was never called by her name at all, but Cathy, or Catty, or Puss Cat, when her brothers were pleased with her, and Scratch Cat when they were not pleased.' "

And with that, they were swept into a tale of princesses, magic castles, enchanted rings, and three children very much like them.

Di herself got lost in the tale, and it wasn't until very late that she came to herself and stopped.

"Well," she said softly, looking at Polly, sound asleep in her arms, and Bran, who was heavy-lidded and yawning. "I think we'll have to go on with this another night."

She stood up and kissed each of the boys on his forehead. "Goodnight, my dears."

"Goodnight, Mother Di," they chorused sleepily.

Di left them, laid Polly down in her own bed, and went downstairs for her ritual nighttime check of everything before going to bed.

Within moments, she had burst back into the boys' room.

"Peter—Bran!" she said sharply, and her voice had that note which is never disobeyed. Both boys sat up at once.

"Put some clothes on at once and wait here for me," she said tersely.

"What is"—Peter started to ask.

"Just obey me!" she ordered, and left for Polly's room.

She was back in a moment, carrying the still-sleeping Polly, wrapped in a blanket, in her arms.

"Follow me," she commanded.

She led them out into the hall, where a thin haze was in the air. Di took a deep breath.

"Boys," she said, turning to face them. "The Home is on fire. I need you to stay right behind me—take each other's hands—and follow me out the front door. _Do not _stop or panic, do you understand?"

Eyes wide in white faces, they nodded.

"Good. Let's go."

Walking slowly but purposely, Di led them down the stairs. The smoke was heavier here, and they could see a red glow coming from the direction of the kitchen, but such was the strength of Di's will that, even though their legs were trembling with fear, they kept going. Peter, holding tight to Bran's hand, reached out with his free hand and clutched the back of Di's dress, afraid of losing her in the smoke.

"We're almost to the door," Di called back. "You're doing marvelously. Keep it up."

A few more feet, and they were out into the fresh air, smudged with smoke and coughing, but not even singed.

Di hurried them across the street, where they turned and looked back. Smoke was pouring from the downstairs windows now, and they could even see flames from the kitchen.

"Peter," Di said urgently. "Run next door and ask them to phone the fire department. Maybe we can still save the house."

He nodded soberly and shot off. Bran started to cry.

"What is it, Bran, were you burned?" Di inquired, setting Polly down on the ground and kneeling next to the little boy.

He shook his head, still sobbing. "Where will we go if it burns down?" he asked finally, wiping his nose on his sleeve. "Will we have to live in the streets?"

Di wrapped her arms around him. "Never. Don't worry, Bran, darling. I'll always take care of you, no matter what happens.

Peter came back with the neighbors, an older couple who had often scowled at the noisy children next door. Now, however, they were full of kind concern.

"What a mercy you noticed it!" the woman exclaimed. "How was it that you weren't asleep?"

"I'd been reading a story to the children," Di explained. "We lost track of time …" her voice trailed off as she realized that, had they been in bed by the usual time, the fire could have spread and trapped them upstairs before they noticed it. She hugged her three children and thanked Providence.

"Here, miss, why don't you let me and my missus take you all to our home for now?" the man offered. "It's a cold night, the fire department's on its way, and you can rest in there until they need you."

Di was touched by their offer. "Thank you, and I gladly accept on behalf of the children," she replied. "But I think I should stay here."

They nodded understandingly, and the woman shepherded the boys back over to her house, promising them hot cocoa and cookies, Peter carrying his little sister.

"Thank you," Di said again to the man.

He wrinkled his face. "Now, now, no need to thank us. It's the Christian thing to do. We may have been a little … hard on the young ones in the past, but we'd never want a thing like this to happen."

Di wrapped her arms around herself and turned back to watch the house. Even after the fire department came and started working to save it, she knew it was no good. She watched her dream, her livelihood, and her home crumble into ashes, and she wondered what on earth she was going to do now.

* * *

**_Author's Note: _**_Here's a little twist for you all! The next chapter is in the process of being written_, _but it's not complete yet, so I'm afraid I'll have ot leave you hanging for a few days yet. As always, please review and tell me what you think!_

The Enchanted Castle_ was written by E. Nesbit_


	23. Chapter 23

Di stood alone in the grey dawn, wearing her only dress and a sweater borrowed from Mrs. Boyer, the neighbor, and stared at the ashes from last night.

Despite the firemen's best efforts, the Home had burned to the ground; they had been able to save nothing. It stood now in the cold half-light, a still-smoking pile of rubble.

Di blinked away stinging tears, unsure as to whether they were caused by the acrid smoke or something deeper. Her feelings were torn: relief that the children hadn't been harmed (aside from a little smoke in their lungs, something the doctor said a few days of rest would clear up); sorrow over the loss of the Home; and most of all, overwhelming tiredness. Aunt Jen had come over last night, with promises to return in the morning, and she had declared that they could rebuild, but Di wasn't so sure.

It was one thing to _keep_ an asylum open against Mrs. Kennedy's opposition—it was another thing entirely to attempt to _re-open_. Besides, Di wasn't even sure she wanted to. Not that she had any idea what she would do if she didn't rebuild, but maybe this was fate's way of telling her it was time to change direction.

She pulled the sweater a little tighter around her body. The firemen had determined that the cause of the fire had been a greasy towel left too close to the stove last night. Mrs. Goccia, as always, had been in a hurry to get home, and must have left it.

Di couldn't find it in her heart to blame the old woman. The fire had been an accident—however it started, no one was to blame. Still, the fact remained that she and the three little ones were left bereft, and she had no options in front of her. Rebuilding didn't seem possible—even if Mrs. Kennedy wasn't in the picture, Di didn't think she had the energy to start again from scratch. She had been twenty-seven when she started, full of grand dreams and boundless energy. Now she was thirty-two, tired and worn out. Five years may not seem like much, but they had made all the difference to her.

"Di!"

At the distressed cry, Di turned and saw Rilla's figure flying down the street toward her.

"Kenneth heard about the Home just now. Oh Di, why didn't you call us?"

Di pulled back as Rilla moved to hug her. "I stink of smoke, Rilla," she said. "I'm sorry I didn't call. It was a little too wild here to think about anything."

Rilla hugged her despite her protestations. "I can't imagine … thank the Lord nobody was hurt! I nearly went crazy when Ken woke me up and told me. I rushed the children right over to Mother Leslie's and came here. I want you and the children to come home with me."

"Oh Rilla, that's sweet, but I can't. I need to figure out what to do."

Rilla had that stubborn look in her eye again. "You can figure it out just as well from our house as you can from standing in the street, or staying at the Boyers. Di, do I need to remind you again what family is for?"

Di relented. "No, darling. We'll come. Thank you—I didn't mean to sound ungrateful; I'm just so tired right now I can't even think straight."

"And no wonder!" Rilla hugged her again. "I have the car, so let's go get the children and go right home."

_Home_ … what a wonderful sounding word. Di tried to imagine a home of her own … a home with a lowercase "h" instead of a capital one … a home with laughing children and a big, overgrown puppy … a home with lights in the windows and life in the rooms … a home that was a refuge from the world or a place to welcome friends, whichever you preferred … a home with a fireplace and china dogs, like at Ingleside … a home with a husband with a slight limp and warm blue eyes that crinkled when he laughed.

She sniffed a little as she turned away from the ruins of _her_ Home, never to return again.

* * *

Rilla was wonderful. She prepared hot baths for the children, and insisted on tucking them into bed herself so Di could take her own bath. Di protested feebly at first, but as always, Rilla had her way in the end, and as she whisked the three children upstairs, Di sank into the tub and luxuriated in the feeling of the grime and stench being washed away.

When she finally emerged, after the water grew cold, nearly an hour later, Rilla had a hot cup of tea and some toast waiting for her.

"Sister dear, you are amazing," Di said, tying the belt of her robe—borrowed from Rilla, of course—a little tighter and sitting down at the table.

Rilla smiled complacently. "Well, I like to think so." She winked roguishly. "At least, that's what I tell Kenneth!"

Di smiled. "I'm sure Ken thinks you're wonderful all on his own, without any encouragement from you."

The two sisters chatted about trivial matters—how Gilly was going to be starting school in the fall, and how Rilla couldn't get over how her baby boy was growing up; Persis' latest exploits with the twins in France; the honors being heaped on the young American pilot, Charles Lindbergh; Kenneth's paper; and other such topics.

Finally, two cups of tea later, Rilla turned to more serious issues.

"Di, dear," she said, setting her teacup down. "Have you been able to think at all about what you are going to do next?"

Di sighed. "Well, the first thing I'm going to have to do is buy some necessities for myself and the children. We didn't have time to take anything, so we have nothing left but the clothes on our backs."

"You know you're welcome to anything of mine," Rilla offered immediately.

Di laughed. "Rilla, dear, you are at least two inches shorter than I am, and you have a lovely figure, unlike my straight up-and-down. I highly doubt much of anything of yours will fit me."

Rilla heaved a sigh of her own. "I remember the days when I was as slim as you—that was before Gilly and the girls. Well, dear, you know how I love to shop, so I'll be more than happy to accompany you whenever you plan to go."

"Thank you. As for what the _Home_ is going to do next, I'm just not sure. Aunt Jen said we could rebuild, but … I just don't know."

Rilla looked at her sister with startled eyes. "Not rebuild? But Di—what else would you _do_?"

Di shrugged. "I'm not sure, to be perfectly honest. But I think—I think this might be heaven's way of telling me it's time to make a change, to go in a new direction. Now, if I could only guess what that direction would be …"

"But what about the children?"

Di straightened. "I'll never abandon Peter, Bran, and Polly. Never. Whatever direction my life takes, they will be a part of it. As for the rest … who knows?"

Rilla leaned back in her chair. "My goodness. I never thought you'd leave the Home."

"I probably wouldn't have, had it not been for this fire. But now the Home is gone, and I think it's time for a fresh start."

"So what are you going to do?" Rilla asked again.

"I thought about that while I was bathing," Di answered slowly. "I think, once we get everything settled here, I want to take the children to Ingleside for a little while. This has been a traumatic experience for them, and I think it would do them some good to get out of the city and away from anything that might remind them of the fire. And I think it would do me some good, too—maybe give me some perspective, give me a chance to sit down and really plan out what I want to do next."

"Well, that sounds like a good idea," Rilla said. "Ken and I are planning on heading to the Island in a few weeks, you know. If the timing works out, perhaps we can all travel together."

"That would be nice," Di agreed. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. How good it would be to see Glen St. Mary again! To ramble through the maple grove, dream in Rainbow Valley, feel the rocks and sand of the harbor under her feet again …

Her head tilted to one side, and she fell fast asleep, dreaming of home.

* * *

The worst part of the next few days was telling Aunt Jen that she had no real desire to start the Home afresh. That good woman looked positively crushed at the news.

"But—but—_why_?" she demanded.

"I just think it's time for a change," Di tried to explain. "I've been feeling worn out and run down for a while lately, and now that the Home is gone, I think it's a good time to start afresh."

Aunt Jen's face suddenly cleared. "I see. You're tired! You need a break. You haven't been away from the Home at all for almost three years—and that was when you went back to the Island for your sister's health crisis. You go back to the Glen—take the children with you—and once you've rested and recovered, you'll be ready to come back and start work again. Lewis and I will be ready for you."

Di tried to protest, but the Pringle spirit nearly matched the Blythe spirit, and in the end, she left Aunt Jen with the matter still unresolved.

"Well, it won't be so bad," said Rilla consolingly. "After all, who knows? Maybe you will want to start over here in a little while. And if not, Aunt Jen will _have_ to believe you if you tell her in a month or so that you don't want to rebuild."

"I suppose so," Di conceded. "I just feel as though I was tricking her, somehow."

"Nonsense! You're being perfectly honest—if she chooses to ignore what you're telling her, then that's her misfortune. You can't be held responsible for it."

Rilla thoroughly enjoyed the shopping. She would have bought all kinds of charming dresses for Polly, and elegant suits for the boys, had Di not insisted that the clothing be simple and practical.

Rilla did have her way on an evening frock for Di, though. It was a slim princess style, made of Nile green chiffon, with a bolero jacket adding that extra touch of smartness. Di protested, but Rilla overruled her.

"There are always summer parties in the Glen," she said. "And it's been ages since you've had a really nice evening gown, Di. After everything you've been through this past year, you deserve something nice for yourself."

And so the days slipped by, and before they knew it, the nine of them—Rilla, Ken, Gilly, Ally, Anna, Di, Peter, Bran, and Polly—were on the ferry to the Island, all eagerly craning their necks for their first glimpse of the red soil.

* * *

From the harbor, it was merely a short train ride to the Glen, where all the family had turned out to meet them. Di was looking forward to getting to Ingleside—not only was she bone-weary from traveling, Peter was looking white and sick with nerves over meeting so many strange people, Polly was whimpering a little with tiredness and the strangeness of it all, and even Bran's boundless energy had flagged, leaving him unusually quiet and withdrawn.

Her spirits lifted as she stepped off the platform, directly into Mother's waiting arms. For just a moment, Di felt like a little girl again, coming home to Mother's wisdom and comfort. There were more grey threads than red in Mother's hairs now, but her grey eyes still shone with all the love and beauty of her youth.

Little Polly drew near at once, sensing a kindly mother-presence, and even Peter's drawn face eased a little when she turned to him and welcomed him to Glen St. Mary.

Bran, on the other hand, was drawn more to the elder Dr. Blythe, who for a change was _not_ out on a case. That worthy gentleman, seeing that the women were all occupied with hugging, greeted bran with a grin and cheerful hello. Perhaps the Welsh boy saw in him a kindred spirit, for his wide grin flashed out instantly, and he and Gilbert were fast friends from that moment on.

Jem and Faith were there as well, with their two; Walt hiding behind his mother's skirts, Lily happily hugging cousins Gilly, Anna, and Ally.

Amidst all the hugs, Dr. Blythe's voice finally boomed over their heads.

"Enough! Anne-girl, we must get these weary travelers home. Di, you look ready to drop."

Di beamed at her father. "I'm doing much better now that I'm home," she said, truthfully enough. She hadn't realized how much she'd been missing the Glen, and her family.

Faith hooked her arm through Di's as the crowd started to make its way back to Ingleside. "You'll never guess what news I have for you," she said, winking roguishly.

"True enough, so you might as well just tell me," Di laughed back, holding Polly's hand in her free one.

"Una's coming home in a week!"

"Oh Faith, that's wonderful!" Di cried. Una Meredith had been working with needy children in India for the last several years. Her family and friends missed her greatly—letters only conveyed so much. "How long will she be here?"

"A month," Faith said happily. "I can't wait to see her. You and Nan and Rilla are all wonderful, of course, but Una's my own sister, and I've missed her so! Just think, she's never even seen Lily and Walt."

"Oh, it will be good to see her," Di said. "It's been far too long."

"It's been too long since you've been home, too, Di dear," Faith scolded lovingly. "I'm so sorry about the Home, of course, but I'm glad it at least brought you back. How long will you stay?"

Di was very aware of Polly pricking up her ears to hear the answer, as well, and of Peter walking behind her. She hadn't told the children yet that she wasn't going to reopen the Home, only that they were all going to spend some time at Ingleside. "I haven't quite decided," she finally answered vaguely. "We'll see how things go."

Back at Ingleside, with Rilla and Ken and their brood heading gaily off to the House of Dreams, Di insisted that her three lay down for an hour's nap.

"But I'm not tired, Mother Di," Bran protested. "I want to explore!"

"And I'm eleven, too old for naps," Peter grumbled.

Di couldn't help but smile. The mere fact that Peter was grumbling told her he was more tired than he wanted to admit.

"Humor me," she said firmly. "We'll be here for many days; there'll be plenty of time for everything you want to do. But if you don't rest now, you'll get sick, and miss out on all the fun you could be having. Now, lay down. You may get up in one hour."

They still looked sulky, but they did as they were told. Di tucked them in and exited the room in time to see Mother coming out of her and Nan's old bedroom. Mother had asked to be allowed to put Polly down for her nap, and Di had willingly agreed, thinking that the two boys were about all she could manage just then.

"How is she?" Di asked in a hushed tone.

Mother smiled. "She fell asleep almost as soon as her head touched the pillow."

"Good." Di peeked back into the boys' room. "And they're asleep as well."

They went downstairs together into the living room, where the other adults were gathered and Susan, older and slower, but still stubbornly refusing to slow down, was bringing in tea.

"By George, it's good to have you home, Diana, daughter of Anne," Dad said, smiling with satisfaction. "Now tell us, daughter dear, what are your plans for the future?"

The children being safely asleep upstairs, Di told them the truth.

"To be perfectly honest, dad, I just don't know," she said frankly. "But I do know that they do not involve rebuilding the Shirley-Stedman Home."

Jem and Faith opened surprised eyes at this, but neither Mother nor Dad seemed the least bit startled.

"Opening would be a great deal of work," Mother nodded. "If it's not something you're absolutely positive you want to do, it's best to leave it."

"Now, why aren't you surprised?" Di demanded, half-jokingly, and half in earnest. "Rilla nearly fell out of her chair when I told her, and Aunt Jen refuses to believe me at all."

"Parents can see these things, dear," Mother answered serenely. "We knew you were restless at the Home. I think it's good that you want a change. You don't want to get in a rut and go on plodding away at the same thing, day after day. If you've lost your love for the work, you should leave it and find something different."

"But what will you do?" Faith asked.

Di shrugged. "That's one of the things I'm hoping to discover, now that I'm home. For now, I just want to be carefree and irresponsible for a few days, and pretend I'm a girl again, and forget everything that has happened these last several months."

This seemed to satisfy everyone else, but later on, when Di and Mother were alone on the verandah, it was another matter.

"Di," Mother began. "I don't want to pry, if you'd rather not discuss it, but I was wondering … how do you feel about Patrick and Elizabeth?"

Di sighed and leaned back. "I don't know how you do it, Mother. You haven't seen me for a few years, and within hours of me being back home, you divine my deepest secrets."

Mother smiled. "It was fairly obvious, when your letters home suddenly stopped referring at all to Patrick, that something was wrong there. And this restlessness, this desire for something different … unless I'm mistaken, that has something to do with your feelings for Patrick. Am I right?"

So much had things changed in the last months, that Di was able to answer honestly and fully, with only the slightest twinge. "I think I've been in love with him for years, without knowing it. I knew I didn't like the idea of him marrying anybody, but I thought that was just because I didn't want to share his friendship. Then I met Elizabeth—and Mother, she's all wrong for him!—and I knew." She smiled ruefully. "Now that it's too late to do anything at all about it, I know my true feelings. It was very difficult for a while, but then everything happened with Mrs. Kennedy, and then the fire, and now … now I can just accept the fact that I'll never be with him. It hurts, but not unbearably."

She sighed. "It would be easier to bear, though, if I did have some sort of drive. You're right—as usual!—about my love for the Home waning right around the same time my love for Patrick blossomed."

Mother nodded. "It is rather hard for the heart to sustain two passions at once. Some can do it, but it's not easy."

"Exactly! I need something else, something to take the place of the Home … and hopefully replace Patrick … I just don't know what."

Mother patted her hand, smiling tenderly. "Don't fret, dear. Everything will work itself out in good time. You'll see."

Di rather doubted it, but she still felt better. Oh, it was good to be "mothered" again! For now, she was perfectly content just to stay at Ingleside forever. She knew the feeling wouldn't last, but she was going to enjoy it to the fullest while it did.

* * *

**_Author's Note: _**_Not so much excitement in this chapter, but I thought Di needed a bit of an interlude. And just wait 'til you see what happens next ..._


	24. Chapter 24

As the days passed, life fell into a pleasant routine. Every morning after breakfast, Polly and Lily, who were the same age, wandered off hand-in-hand to Rainbow Valley, there to play by (or sometimes in) the brook, pick flowers, and tell each other little-girl secrets. At first, Peter insisted on going with them, just to make sure they were all right, but after a few days, the magic of Ingleside began to work on him, too, and he felt secure enough to go off on his own—exploring down by the harbor, fishing with "Uncle" Jem, or reading up in the garret.

Bran followed Dr. Blythe like a loyal puppy whenever he was home; a position that won him many favors, such as fishing trips, drives through the countryside, and special one-on-one conversations. Dr. Blythe had the knack of speaking to children as though they were adults, a distinction that thrilled Bran to the core.

When Dr. Blythe was out on cases, Bran liked to play with Elliot and Vance Douglas. Elliot was eight, the same age as Bran, and Vance six. The three of them got into all sorts of trouble whenever their mother brought them over to play. Sometimes Walt would join them, and Rilla would bring Gilly up from the House of Dreams, and then nobody quite knew what was going to happen next!

As for Di, she was as lazy as she wanted. She spent long hours rambling along the shore, reveling in being so near to the sea once more. Some days she gathered up her three children and they went on an "adventure," just the four of them. Although the orphans had become comfortable around the Blythe family, they still like it best when it was just them and Mother Di.

Soon it was time for Una's homecoming, an event that had the entire village buzzing. Faith was planning a big party for her the night after her arrival.

"Are you sure Una will want a party?" Di asked the morning before Una was due. She and Faith were in the Ingleside kitchen mixing up all kinds of delicacies for the returning wanderer. "She's always been so shy—won't a party just embarrass her?"

Faith scowled fiercely at her son, who was hovering nearby, hoping to steal some scraps. He met her scowl with a cheerful grin, and ran off to find the other boys.

"Maybe it will," she acknowledged. "But she'll just have to bear with it. I haven't seen her in six years, and if I want to throw a party to celebrate her return, then that's what I'm going to do!"

"Let's hope it doesn't make her stay away for another six," Di commented dryly.

She would have preferred a quiet get-together with the families, herself, but looking at Faith's determined chin, she knew that nothing less than an AFFAIR would satisfy her!

* * *

Surprisingly enough, most of the Glen folk had the decency to stay away from the station when Una's train pulled in. They wouldn't have done it for anyone else, but the love they had for their reverend and his family was strong enough to conquer their curiosity.

Even the Blythes stayed away—although it was easier in their case, knowing that Ingleside was the first place Una would come after going to the manse.

Sure enough, not ten minutes after the train arrived, Una flew in, face glowing.

"Oh, you dear, wonderful people!" she cried. "Come here and let me see and hug you all!"

They crowded around her, marveling at the change in their dear Una. Six years had transformed her from a somber, silent, somewhat brooding woman who had left girlhood far behind, into a lovely woman, positively shimmering with health and youth and life. She was still sweet—still their Una—but she radiated joy and self-confidence in a manner that none of them had ever dreamed possible. For once, even glorious Faith was overshadowed by her younger sister.

Una still wore her black hair long, and it gleamed with a dull sheen in the light. Her dark blue eyes, once so wistful, now sparkled as she hugged everyone, and her skin, formerly ivory white, had darkened to a warm tan from her years under the Indian sun.

She had brought presents for everybody, she explained, bringing forth her satchel.

"I was so excited about seeing everyone that I couldn't even wait to go home—I made Father and Mother Rosemary bring me right over here!"

The children hung about, wide-eyed at the array of presents she brought out. There was a beautiful copy of the Qur'an for her father, who seized it with the true enthusiasm of a scholar, one lovely little detailed image of the famous Taj Mahal for Jem and one for Ken, a chess set with intricately carved pieces for Dr. Blythe, and stunning silk _saris_ for all the women.

"It's like Christmas!" Gilly shouted, his mouth full of sweet _Barfi_, a traditional Indian sweet. He looked at his Aunt Una with adoring eyes; she was clearly his new favorite aunt.

"No," laughed Faith, her arm around her sister. "It's better than Christmas."

* * *

Everyone stayed up late into the night, listening to the stories Una had to tell of her work in India. She had learned so much, she said, from the children she worked with. They were uneducated and poverty-stricken, but so full of love and joy.

"They made me realize how much I have to be thankful for," she said, cuddling a sleepy Ford twin in her lap. "I went to help them, but in the end, they've helped me far beyond what I could ever do for them."

"What did you do?" Mrs. Blythe asked, her eyes bright with pleasure. She had always loved Una like a daughter, and seeing her thus transformed was delightful.

"I taught in the mission school, just one class to begin with. I was so nervous and shy that first week—just sick with fear. I stuttered my way through the class, and ran away and hid after each one. Then, one of the little girls—Ananda—came in crying one morning.

"At the sight of her tears, my nerves melted away. I knelt down beside her and asked what was wrong. She told me that her older brother had been killed in a riot the night before."

"How horrible!" Faith cried.

Una nodded somberly. "Ananda's brother hadn't even been involved; he was just an innocent bystander. But the soldiers opened fire on the crowd, and he was shot."

For a moment, everyone was silent as Una's eyes grew stormy. Then she smiled sweetly and continued. "I comforted Ananda as best I could, and after classes let out for that day, I realized that I wasn't there just to teach; I was there to help. So I put my own fears aside and started thinking about the _children_, and before I knew it, I had almost forgotten what it was like to be shy! I came to love the children so much.

"After a while, I got to where I taught several classes, and I help run an after-school program, a place where children can come and have food and drink and play games, all in a safe environment. We've even opened up a shelter for children to stay overnight if they need. There are so many projects going on—I really hated to leave."

"Didn't you ever get homesick?" Rilla asked, enthralled by the pictures Una drew of life in that foreign culture.

Una laughed—how they had missed that warm sound! "Of course, at first. I cried myself to sleep so many nights. After a while, though, I came to think of India as my home. I still missed you all, of course, but the longer I stayed, the more I loved it. I probably wouldn't have come back now," she admitted, "had not the Mission Board insisted. The Indian nationalist movement is growing, and riots are breaking out all over the country. Any European is looked upon with suspicion these days, and the Mission Board wanted me out and safe for a month or so, just until things settle down."

"Well, I'm glad they did!" Faith cried, her children asleep on either side. "What do you mean, you wouldn't have come home otherwise. Don't you know how much we've missed you?"

Una's eyes sparkled. "Well, the initial idea might not have been mine, but once they told me I was going home, all the longing to see everyone came back so strong that I thought I would _never_ get here. Oh, how I've missed the Glen! There are many beautiful sights in India, but I never saw anything there that could compare to Glen St. Mary."

"Well, of course not," said Susan, who was hovering near the doorway, quite matter-of-fact.

Di was sitting with her children clustered around her. Her problems and worries suddenly seemed so petty and insignificant compared to the hardships Una had had to endure. She was glad she'd come back—glad she was here when Una came home. This was just what she'd needed to gain some perspective. Whatever was going to happen in her life, she would meet it with joy and hope; no more skulking around trying to hide from life. From now on, she would face it head-on!

* * *

To everyone's surprise, and Faith's delight, Una was rather enthusiastic about the party.

"It's been such a long time since I've seen everyone. This will be a perfect chance to renew old acquaintances, and really get back into village life."

"But you hate crowds," said Mary Douglas, who had come up to Ingleside to see her dearest friend. Una was delighted to see her, and even more to meet her namesake, four-year-old Una Cornelia Mary Douglas.

Una smiled. "Have you ever been in an Indian bazaar? Between the people, the dogs, and the smells, you feel so stifled you can't breathe. I hated it at first—I thought I would die every time I went—but after a while I didn't even notice it anymore. Believe me, a Glen party will be nothing compared to that.

"Besides, if we only do things we like or are comfortable with, how will we ever grow?"

She did, however, insist on wearing traditional Indian garb, however, no matter how much Mrs. Meredith, Mary, and Susan protested its impropriety.

"After all," she said sweetly. "If people are curious as to what my life was like in India, this will give them the best glimpse. Besides," laughing, "I don't have any European evening frocks. It's either this or a day dress."

They were so unused to their Una showing any kind of spirit, much less disregarding social etiquette, that they gave in.

As it was, Una looked stunning in her _salwar-kameez_, the traditional outfit consisting of wide-legged pants that narrowed at the ankle and a long straight tunic, with a flowing scarf to drape around one's shoulders or over one's head.

Una's trousers were made of midnight blue silk; they matched her eyes perfectly. Her tunic, which came nearly to her knees, was white and diaphanous, and she wore a blue silk _choli_, or short-sleeve top, underneath. Her scarf was a gauzy swirl of blue and white, and when she draped it over her black head and let it flow toward the ground, she looked truly dazzling.

"Dear me," said Faith mournfully, as the four women stood in Di's room finishing their primping. She looked at her reflection in the mirror. Garbed in a wild-rose pink frock, she looked lovely herself, but she sighed as she gazed. "I look like a staid old matron next to you, Una—I, who always flattered myself on looking young and fresh!"

Una finished fastening sandals on her dainty feet and stood to kiss her sister on the cheek. "You look absolutely beautiful, Faith, and you always did."

Rilla, in dark gold silk, and Di in her Nile green gown, completed the party as they made their way downstairs.

Dr. Blythe let out a low whistle as they presented themselves, but then, as his gaze shifted past them to see his wife coming along, wearing a silver dress, his eyes kindled.

"None of you," he said, shaking his head at the girls, "are half as beautiful as my wife. Come along, Anne-girl, before you break these girls hearts with your splendor."

Laughing and joyful, they went out into the warm summer air.

* * *

The party was a roaring success. Una's garb caused many raised eyebrows at first, but her sweet demeanor and happy smile soon quieted the gossip. Even as a child, Una had been thoroughly lovable, and as a woman, she was even more so. She made a point to speak to almost every person there, asking them how they had been, and showing true interest in their lives. As a missionary, it was improper for her to dance, but she was quite happy to sit along the walls and talk. She never spoke about herself unless someone asked, but then she gladly told about India and all that she'd learned there.

All in all, the general consensus was that Una Meredith had blossomed into a beautiful woman, and was a credit to the community. All the old gossips who used to be scandalized at the doings of the manse children now plumed themselves on how they had helped bring them up until Reverend Meredith married Rosemary West.

With Jerry a renowned politician, Faith the wife of Dr. Jem Blythe, Carl a science professor at McGill, and Una a missionary, Glen St. Mary felt complacently that they had surely done their duty by those children, and were now reaping their reward.

Di was enjoying herself whole-heartedly for the first time in a long time, laughing with Faith, dancing with Jem and Ken and the other men that she'd grown up with, and forgetting for the time being that she was suffering a broken heart.

She had just finished a dance and was making her way to the refreshment table for some punch, when she felt a hand beneath her elbow and heard a heart-stopping familiar voice.

"May I have this dance?"

She turned slowly, suddenly stiff with dread, and looked directly into Patrick Samuels' warm blue eyes.

Di felt the color creep up to her cheeks, and hoped it would be put down to the heat in the room. "As a matter of fact," she said formally. "I was planning on sitting this one out."

Patrick seemed in no way put out. "Good. Then may I persuade you to take a little fresh air with me?"

Before Di could protest, he had taken her arm and steered her outside. There were one or two canoodling couples lurking around the bushes, but Patrick avoided them and led Di to a bench to sit.

"What are you doing here?" Di asked finally, her stunned brain starting to function again.

Even in the darkness, Di could hear the smile in Patrick's voice. "Seeing you."

"Where's Elizabeth?" Di knew the question was blunt, and probably rude, but she couldn't help herself. She couldn't be sitting out here with another woman's fiancé. He might think they could be just friends, but she just couldn't do it.

Patrick shifted his weight on the bench. "Elizabeth is probably halfway to Winnipeg right now."

"Winnipeg?" Di repeated, completely confused.

"It's a complicated story. Elizabeth has been pushing me for a year now to set a wedding date, but I just couldn't do it. Something kept holding me back. We've been fighting quite a bit over it these last few months, over the wedding and other things—turns out we didn't have as much in common as I'd thought. She didn't want to live the rest of her life on Avonlea, tucked away from the world. She wanted us to move to Toronto, and just come back to Avonlea for vacations. Oh, we wanted completely different lives. So finally, last night, I received a letter from her, saying that she thought it best we dissolve our engagement, as our lives had taken us on different paths. She had met a rich man—practically a millionaire—from Winnipeg this winter, and he asked her to marry him. At the time she told him no, since we were engaged, but as it had become obvious that we weren't suited to each other, she was going out there to tell him she would marry him after all."

"She _jilted_ you?" Di knew she should be rejoicing, but all she felt was a strange numbness—along with a slight incredulity that anyone would choose some stuffy Winnipeg millionaire over Patrick—even Elizabeth Craig!

"She did," Patrick agreed ruefully. "Truth be told, though, I was—and am—relieved. You see, I had been thinking for a while that we weren't really congenial, but I knew it would be dishonorable to break off the engagement. So when she did it for me, well, it was as though a burden lifted off my back."

He leaned forward and took her hand in both of his. "You see, Di, there's really only one person in this world that I can see spending the rest of my life with. She's the woman I always wanted, but never thought I could have, and so decided to settle for second-best. But second-best just doesn't work with a life-companion, and I can't live without her. And when her brother, this morning, told me she might be of the same mind, I came rushing out to see if she would be willing to throw her lot in with mine.

"Diana Blythe, you are my dearest friend, the only person I want to share my life. Could you be happy with a simple man like me?"

Di couldn't speak for a moment. The numbness from before was replaced with overwhelming joy washing over her like rain. This—_this_ was all she wanted! This was a passion, a love that would never fade away. Oh, life could not possibly get any sweeter than this.

She cleared her throat and finally spoke. "I could not be happy with anyone else," she said softly.

Patrick leaned forward, and their hands and lips met in one accord.

* * *

Di never remembered much about the rest of that night. She and Patrick never went back inside, but stayed out on the old bench, talking, nearly until dawn. When she got back to Ingleside, everyone else was at home and asleep already. She kissed Patrick goodnight—what joy to be able to do so!—and slipped in through the kitchen door, tiptoeing up the stairs to her room.

She hung up her dress with great care. How glad she was, now, that Rilla had convinced her to buy it! Although Di normally didn't care much about clothes, she was pleased that she looked so nice on the night she and Patrick finally told each other of their love. She would cherish this dress always, as a memento of this night.

She laughed a little at herself as she crawled beneath her covers. Who would have guessed she could be so romantic?

It only seemed a few moments from the time she closed her eyes to when little Polly bounced on the bed, waking her up.

"Mother Di! It's morning!" she squealed.

Di opened her eyes blearily. Polly's energy had grown enormously since coming to Ingleside, something that had pleased Di, until this morning. She groaned and shielded her eyes from the sun streaming in through the white ruffled curtains.

"How was the party last night?" Polly asked. "Were you beautiful? Was Aunt Una beautiful? When can I wear my sari?"

Di finally relinquished all hope of more sleep and sat up, capturing the little girl in her arms and tickling her.

"You monkey! How can you expect me to answer all those question at once? I haven't even had my tea yet!"

Polly giggled and squirmed, her delighted squeals apparently signaling to the boys, lurking outside the door, that they could come in.

The door flew open and the two lads promptly leaped on the bed. Di grabbed her pillow and started buffeting them; they snatched up Polly's pillows and a free-for-all took place. They joyfully whacked away at each other until all were exhausted and glowing, and flopped down to rest.

"Whew!" Di said, trying to catch her breath. "I'm getting too old for this."

Suddenly, Bran sat upright. "Mother Di! Look!" He pointed out the window, and Di followed his finger to see Patrick's square figure walking down the road to the house.

"Uncle Patrick!" Polly squealed. Leaping off the bed, she would have darted out the door in an instant if Di hadn't called to her.

"Polly, wait!" She looked at the three faces before her—Peter's, so quiet and calm, his blue eyes watching her solemnly from beneath his shock of golden hair; Bran's, dusky and roguish, his dark eyes twinkling merrily; and Polly's, heart-shaped and sweet, with her green eyes and dark auburn hair only adding luster to her lovely spirit. These children were as dear to her as though they were her own. Although most of last night was a blur, she remembered very clearly the conversation she and Patrick had had regarding them, and she hoped they would approve the idea. She was certain Polly would, but she had her doubts about the boys.

She took her courage in both hands and spoke abruptly. "Children, Uncle Patrick and I—we want to get married."

Polly jumped up and down, her hands over her mouth. Bran's eyes widened in shock, and even Peter looked taken aback.

Di hurried on. "Now, we will only get married if you three approve." She was about to say more, but Bran interrupted.

"What will happen to us?"

Di smiled at his anxious face. "Well, we would very much like to adopt you—to make you three our children officially. What do you say?"

"You mean, we would be a family?" Bran whispered, his eyes glowing.

"You would be our real mother?" Polly added in awe.

"And we would live in a home of our own?" Peter finished.

"Yes to all of those," Di said. "Children, I love you so very much, and nothing would make me happier than for you to be my very own children—mine and Patrick's."

"Oh!" Polly squealed, and she leapt onto the bed and flung her arms around Di's neck. "It's just what I've always wanted!"

Bran, his face twisted with emotion, didn't say anything, but he too leaned in and hugged Di fiercely. She looked over their heads at Peter, still sitting silently.

"Well?" she asked him.

The other two sat back to hear his answer.

"If it means we are a family, in our own home … then yes," he said slowly.

The happy cries of glee could be heard even from outside the house. Polly dashed out to tell Uncle Patrick that they were going to be a real family, and the boys went to tell their new cousins the good news. Di, left alone, leaned back against her headboard with happy tears standing in her eyes.

"I couldn't have asked for anything better than this," she whispered softly, her heart rejoicing with thankfulness.

* * *

**_Hurray! Only one chapter left, to wrap things up_**. **_Let me know what you think!_**


	25. Chapter 25

Great was the rejoicing in the House of Blythe when Di and Patrick shared their news. Rilla purred complacently at the fact that her sister was getting married at last; Mrs. Blythe was quietly glad that her daughter had found a lasting passion; Dr. Blythe, though he didn't quite think any young man good enough for his Diana, was happy just to see _her_ so happy; and Shirley, who came up from Avonlea that week, was openly triumphant.

"I knew it," he said, kissing Di's cheek and hugging Patrick. "I knew from the first time you two met that you were destined to be together."

It had been Shirley who had encouraged Patrick to come to the Glen and try his luck with Di after Elizabeth had left for Winnipeg.

"I hadn't even heard about the fire," Patrick explained, sitting on the Ingleside verandah with his arm around Di and Polly in his lap. "I was left thinking you were still wedded to the Home, until Shirley told me it had burned and you were back on the Island looking for a new venture."

"I thought marriage was the only challenge left for you, after everything you faced in Toronto," put in Shirley, his brown eyes twinkling wickedly.

Di laughed and shook her red curls at him. "And here I thought Rilla and Nan were the matchmakers in the family. Shirley Blythe, you humbug!"

Shirley leaned back in the porch swing. "I just wanted to ensure you as my neighbor."

"Then you are going to live in Avonlea?" Rilla asked.

Patrick nodded. "Shirley's designed a beautiful house for us on your father's old farm. I'd been trying to fix up the old house, but he finally told me that it was structurally unsound, and offered to design me a new one for my wedding."

Shirley winked. "At the time, I didn't even realize that the bride would be my sister!"

"When will the house be built?" Una asked. She had been quite pleased to meet Di's Patrick, and for his part, he was openly admiring, remarking to Di in private he wished he had a brother he could marry off to her.

"It won't be ready to live in until January," Patrick answered, making a face. "I hate having to put our wedding off until then, but … I've waited this long for you, my darling Di, I suppose I can wait a few more months."

"And you'll be having a big family wedding, of course," Rilla added.

Di looked dismayed. "Oh Rilla, _no_. I don't want a lot of fuss … I just want a very simple, quiet little affair, with just us and the Merediths and the Wrights."

"But Di," Rilla argued undauntedly. "You are the last one of the family to get married. We won't have another chance for a big wedding until our children are ready to marry, heaven forbid. Nan ran off and eloped; so the burden falls to you, sister dear, to fulfill your daughterly duties to the house."

"Nonsense!" Di exclaimed. "You had the big wedding; that will have to satisfy everyone."

Rilla looked unmoved, and Di suspected with a sinking feeling that she would have her way in the end.

"It's just so wonderful, that you two are finally getting married," Faith interposed tactfully. "Everything just seems to have come together now … Una's home, Di's getting married … all's right with the world."

Later that day, when Di and Patrick were rambling alone through Rainbow Valley, Patrick turned to Di with serious eyes.

"My dear," he said. "You are giving up a great deal for me … your career, the Home, Toronto, everything. Are you sure you won't regret it?"

Di laughed blithely. "Regret it? Patrick, I loved what I did in Toronto. I was able to help a number of children, and I made a great many friends. Aunt Jen, Tricia, Leah … I can't imagine my life without knowing them. But as wonderful as it was to be Diana Blythe, of the Shirley-Stedman Home, for a little while, it will be a hundred times better to be Diana Samuels of Prince Edward Island for the rest of my life. Oh Patrick, I'm so happy I don't know how to express it."

"I do," whispered Patrick, tilting her chin toward his with a smile.

Their lips met in a perfect kiss, and there, in that golden valley, their dreams of happiness became reality.

_**The End**_

* * *

_**Author's Note: **It's over! (Sniff, sniff) It's been a long, winding journey, but Di and Patrick finally found happiness in each other. Be sure to leave a review telling me what you think of the ending! _


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